


story in the fog

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Dating, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 145,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey doesn't want to go home for the holidays. Ian's family can't afford an extra mouth to feed unless it's absolutely necessary. The only solution? Tell them they're dating.</p><p>Fake dating Hogwarts AU!! Whoo(ps).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first sight

**Author's Note:**

> tags will be added & rating will probably be changed as it goes on!!
> 
> Special thanks @ [peyton](http://montygreening.tumblr.com/) for (accidentally) kickstarting this fic by saying "do them all" when i said i wanted to do a hogwarts au and a fake dating au. i joked that i'd do 'em together and it turned into..........not a joke.
> 
> title from halsey's strange love!! if you're not listening to that and Drive while you read this then what are you even doing??

**PROLOGUE**

 

**_first year – four years ago_ **

 

          Ian met him when he was eleven, on his first day at Hogwarts School.

          He was two years older than him and smirking incessantly and shoveling steak into his mouth the first time Ian saw him. Ian was huddled up with the rest of the first years waiting to be sorted, and the boy was talking to someone beside him. Something about the look on his face made Ian think he wasn’t saying anything very nice.

          Ian had almost turned to focus on someone else, prepared to ignore how the boy drew his eye, when he suddenly looked up and locked eyes with Ian. Then something shifted, and he waved, then threw up a middle finger, and Ian furrowed his brow confused until he turned around and noticed that a girl behind him, with the same black hair and the same soft features somehow turned sharp, was sticking out her tongue and making faces at the boy at the table. A few seconds after he turned his head, she noticed Ian looking at her and abruptly stopped pulling silly expressions.

          “What’s your problem?” she sneered, suddenly all cutting edges and bruising words.

          “No problem,” Ian said honestly. “I thought he was looking at me. That your brother?”

          The girl eyed him skeptically for a second before something relaxed within her, and she seemed to decide that he wasn’t being malicious or looking to mock her.

          “Yeah, that’s my brother,” she said. Then her lips tilted up in a smile and she said, “I’m Mandy Milkovich.”

          Ian shook her hand, though she hadn’t offered it until he’d put his own out, and said, “Hi Mandy, I’m Ian. Ian Gallagher.”

          A second later her attention shifted over his shoulder, and she rolled her eyes. Ian turned to look too and saw that her brother was making faces at the two of them, and although Ian didn’t know what they meant, Mandy obviously did.

          “Ignore Mickey, he’s an asshole,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Ian felt her arm slip through his, and he jutted his elbow out enough to accommodate her. Mandy grinned. “We’re gonna be friends, Ian Gallagher,” she said decisively. Then she wrinkled her nose and added, “Even if you end up in Gryffindor or something, I guess.”

          Ian laughed. “I’ll try not to do that then.”

          A few minutes later, their conversation had to halt when the strict-looking woman who had introduced herself earlier—the Headmistress, Mcgonagall, Ian recalled—began calling out names off of a scroll she was holding. Mandy gave his arm a squeeze when his name was read off, and he cast her a nervous look over his shoulder when he headed up to the front, where a simple stool and hat were waiting for him. Copying the students who had gone before him, he put the hat on and sat down on the stool, gripping the wooden rim tightly. When he cast his eyes over the crowd, they flicked over Mickey and Mandy in turn before settling on the table where he could see his own older brother casting him thumbs up from amidst the other Ravenclaws. To the side, Fiona was seated with her fellow Gryffindors, smiling widely at him and occasionally elbowing her friends and turning to whisper in their ears. Ian returned his attention to the front, something like nausea bubbling up in his stomach from his nerves. God, if he was sick in front of this entire hall he was getting on the train back home immediately.

          “Ambitious,” a voice said in his ear, and Ian jumped. He saw a few people scattered across the hall chuckling at his reaction, and he blushed, letting the hat slip a little bit further down his nose.

          _So what?_ he thought, unsure if he was allowed to communicate or not.

          “So I see your determination, and charm, yes…Not unintelligent either, if a bit bullheaded…”

          _Hey!_ Ian thought, but the hat seemed to ignore his snapping at it. Ian still wasn’t entirely sure that it could hear him.

          “There’s only one place for you,” the hat said, low in his ear before shouting to the rest of the hall: “SLYTHERIN!”

          Ian, having heard a rumor or two about this house before—especially from Fiona’s Gryffindor friends when they visited on the holidays—gritted his teeth a little as he hopped down from the stool and made his way to the loudest-cheering table. They didn’t seem like a particularly cruel lot, despite what he had heard about their tendency towards unsavoriness. He cast his eyes around the hall again as he made his way over; Fiona looked delicately disappointed, and Lip just shrugged at him, but when his eyes passed to Mandy, she was beaming and giving him a double thumbs up. He waved at her and went to find a seat.

          Mandy was called a little while later, proclaimed a Hufflepuff after a solid minute of deliberation (the look on her face made Ian think she must have been arguing with the hat for most of it), and ran off to join her older brother. Ian watched as she said something rapidly in his ear, then as he pinched her arm and she batted at his shoulder in response. His eyes strayed back to the front of the hall.

          “You know, it’s not all bad here,” someone said to his right, and Ian dragged his attention instead to the pretty blonde girl smiling at him. She didn’t look much older than himself, but he hadn’t seen her called tonight. “In Slytherin, I mean. I know the rest of the school gives you shit for it, but we’re okay.”

          She smiled encouragingly, and when Ian tilted his head to the side, he saw a few other students down the row smile or wave at him politely when their eyes met.

          “It’s not so bad since the war,” one of the older kids assured him. “Just some leftover prejudice from years ago.”

          Ian had heard about the second Wizarding War. It had ended about ten years prior, but he guessed some kids’ parents hadn’t forgotten what it was like before then, when the school was divided and the Slytherins snared most of the bad guys. They must have passed their prejudice onto their children and younger family, and though Ian could see their point, the idea of being already sided against gave him a sour feeling in his stomach.

          “I’m Karen,” the blonde girl added, interrupting his building uneasiness. “Jackson. You’re brothers with Lip, aren’t you?”

          Ian made a noise in the back of his throat and rolled his eyes, relaxing a little into the conversation. “Don’t tell me he hit on you too?”

          Lip always came back for the holidays bragging about girls he had flirted with or kissed; Ian wasn’t sure he believed all of the stories.

          Karen giggled. “He invited me to Hogsmeade last year. Said he’d take me when we were both old enough.”

          “He’s only a third year now,” Ian pointed out, because his brother wasn’t even allowed down to the village until this year.

          Karen shrugged. “Me too, but I didn’t say I’d _go_ ,” she said like it was obvious. “We’ll see what my prospects are then, you know?”

          Ian pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, not wanting to overtly side against his brother, but she seemed to sense his amusement and smirked, elbowing him playfully and returning her attention to the other kids being sorted. Ian followed suit.

          When the ceremony finished up, they were presented with the most amazing feast Ian had ever laid eyes on. He ate until he felt he might burst, but he had fun anyway; Karen introduced him to a few others sitting around them, and they all seemed to accept him readily, laughing with him and teasing him and telling him stories about Lip or Fiona that even he hadn’t known. When dinner was over, he got up to follow his prefect to the Slytherin dormitories, and passed the Hufflepuffs crowding out through the huge door at the same time.

          “Hey Serpent Boy,” Mandy called when she saw him. He looked around, spotted her, and paused so she could make her way to his side. When she was close enough, she flicked the brim of his hat and stretched up on her toes to look him in the eye. “So, not the same house,” she lamented, “but since you didn’t go Gryff I can still be seen with you.”

          “Thank god,” Ian said, putting a hand to his heart. “I thought I’d have to ask for a transfer.”

          Mandy punched him on the arm but grinned at him anyway. “Shut up. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast, come sit with me for awhile, okay? We can compare schedules and see what classes we have together!”

          Ian agreed, and she threw him one last smile and wave before she hurried off to join the rest of her house filing into the entrance hall. Ian didn’t make it one step before someone else stepped up next to him, and turning, he recognized Mandy’s brother from earlier. He looked shorter up close, less intimidating even though he still had Ian beat by a few inches. His eyebrows were drawn as he looked Ian over, and his hands were fists where he’d curled them on his hips. He was clearly trying to look fierce.

          Ian looked up at him impassively. “Mickey, right?” he asked.

          “Yeah, and you’re the Gallagher kid. Mandy told me about you at dinner.”

          Something warm flooded his chest. Despite her assurances, he’d somewhat doubted her determination to be friends after being sorted into separate houses, but the confirmation from Mickey soothed him somewhat.

          “She did?”

          “Yeah.” Mickey let his eyes trail over him disdainfully one more time before he relaxed, arms dropping to his sides and his forehead smoothing out. He cuffed Ian on the arm. “If Mandy says you’re cool, then you’re cool,” he declared, and Ian braved a smile. “See you at breakfast, kid,” Mickey said.

          He turned and walked off. Something had Ian staring after him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

          When he fell asleep that night, he dreamed of exploring the castle and grounds and even the forest, Mickey and Mandy on either side. He woke up with his anxiety about school almost completely diminished and warm elation in his chest, and he rushed to dress and hurry down to breakfast. He sat with the Slytherins for only ten minutes before joining the Hufflepuffs across the room.

          Mandy beamed when she saw him come over, and behind her, slinking almost unnoticed, Mickey offered a small, private smile of his own. It followed Ian around for the rest of the day.


	2. summer's over, and we fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spec thanks to [Fiona](http://caputdraconis.tumblr.com/) for helping me hammer out a bunch of the finer details in this fic, despite the fact that I should have done that before I started, lol.
> 
> also, I added some more warnings! be especially mindful of the referenced abuse one....the recreational drug use is just mentioned/implied. so far.

**_Ian – fifth year; Mickey – seventh year_ **

 

          Ian’s first thought was that Mickey looked beautiful in the mornings, eyes bright and open, not yet adjusted to the annoyances of the day; his faint smattering of freckles clear in the early-morning sunlight; his small sleepy smile when he looked over at Ian untouched by irritation or ill-will.

          Ian’s second thought was wondering what the hell Mickey was doing in his bed.

          “Get up, shit for brains,” he said, tapping Ian squarely on the forehead. “First day of classes and I ain’t letting you be late like last year. Last time you had detention Mandy made me play Gobstones for three hours because you weren’t fucking here.”

          Ian groaned and shifted around in his bed, turning his back to Mickey and pulling his covers up as much as possible.

          “Ay, get up,” Mickey said, now poking at his back and ribs and everywhere he could still reach. “Get up!”

          Ian swatted at his hands and flipped onto his back.

          “I’m up,” he snapped. He shoved him and added, “Get out of my bed. God, you’re such a tool.”

          Mickey snickered and dutifully scooted down to the other side of the bed, sitting cross-legged and watching as Ian got up and started rummaging around for clean robes.

          “How’d you even get in here?” Ian asked over his shoulder as he stripped out of his pajamas. “I haven’t given you the password yet.”

          Mickey shrugged. “Scrawny firsty let me in,” he said. “She tried to tell me off first but then got all terrified when I started cracking my knuckles.”

          “You do like intimidating kids six years younger than you,” Ian said, rolling his eyes.

          Mickey just grinned. “It’s an art, not a hobby.”

          Ian snorted a laugh and finished buttoning his robes without comment. He could feel Mickey’s eyes on him but ignored him until he was done, then jerked his head towards the door to the spiral staircase, and they made their way down to the Slytherin common room together.

          “So, day one and you’ve already got a shiner,” Ian noted as they pushed into the corridor outside the dorm and started the long walk up to the Great Hall. “Noticed that last night, but it didn’t look so bad in the dark. You already get in a fight on the train or something?”

          He looked over when Mickey didn’t answer immediately; he had expected a smile or a scoff or a brutally true story, but at the look on Mickey’s face, he dropped his lightheartedness immediately. Mickey was staring at where his shoe was scuffing the floor on every other step, and he didn’t respond.

          A beat passed, and Ian looked at his profile, and Mickey looked at the floor. “Still happening, huh?” Ian asked, quieter now. “Figured he’d lay off a little this summer, now that you’re of age and all that. No luck?”

          Mickey sucked at his teeth for a second before admitting, “Got worse. Think he knows I’m moving out next year, so he doubled down while he could.”

          Ian made an aborted gesture towards him but decided against it at the last second. Physical comfort was more his favored show of support than Mickey’s.

          “Sucks,” he managed eventually.

          Mickey nodded slowly, like he was only half-listening. “Yeah. At least he laid off Mandy a bit though, you know?”

          Ian wasn’t sure he wanted either of them taking the brunt of Terry’s anger, no matter the profit of the other, so he stayed silent on the matter. “Joey move out again?” he asked instead. “Thought he was in his _in_ phase of the whole in-and-out thing.”

          “Just before we got back, yeah,” Mickey sighed. “Holed up with his latest girlfriend or some shit, I don’t know. Just know it was just me and Mandy all summer! Fan-fucking-tastic.”

          Ian frowned at his self-deprecating tone; he sounded resigned, used to it in ways Ian wished he never had to be. He didn’t know what to do about it.

          Before he could come up with a suitable solution or even a passable reassurance, Mickey said, “Think Longbottom’s gonna give me homework on the first day back?” and Ian, by the carefully careless way he asked the question, considered the conversation effectively dropped.

          “Nah, he’s alright,” Ian said as he led the way into the Great Hall. And then, because he assumed Mickey didn’t want to be alone with his curious and caring housemates just now, he added, “Wanna come sit at Slytherin? Carina thinks I’m trying to steal her boyfriend and I don’t need the bitch squad giving me shit on the first day back.”

          Mickey didn’t say anything, but he kept pace with him when he turned and headed for the Slytherin table. Only once they were seated did something seem to click in his brain, and he livened noticeably as he asked, “Wait, isn’t she dating one of the Wallace twins?”

          “Peter, yeah.”

          Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Same Peter Wallace that you made out with behind Puddifoot’s last year?”

          Ian smirked. “I didn’t say her worry was _unfounded_.”

          Mickey shook his head at him, and Ian was full on grinning when he pulled a plate towards himself and starting piling breakfast onto it.

          Mickey snorted but tucked into his meal too without further teasing; that, Ian was confident would come later, but for now Mickey turned his attention to his breakfast and they were both momentarily too preoccupied with eating to talk to one another. Ian waited until he had gulped down a glass of water and finished half of his eggs before turning an imperious gaze on Mickey.

          “We’re still doing study sessions, right?” he asked, watching him carefully. “I’ve got OWLs this year and you’re in NEWT classes, so it’s even more important than last year.”

          Mickey waved a hand at him. He had to swallow his bacon before he could say, “Don’t know if we’ll have time, man. OWL classes pile a fuckton of homework on you, just you wait—and it’s probably gonna be even worse for me. Four days a week practicing spellwork with your scrawny ass? Don’t think I’ll even have time to fucking sleep this year, and you know I skive off of everything but the essays anyway.”

          Ian fished his wand out of his pocket and started tapping it impatiently on his bouncing knee, a bad habit from forever ago despite Fiona’s constant insistence that he was going to scorch off his leg that way.

          “So lower your drug prices and demand they start writing your essays, too, for payment. I don’t care, Mick!”

          Mickey threw him an exasperated look. Ian stopped fidgeting long enough to draw himself up to his full height and cast Mickey an imperative glare right back. They were around the same height, so it didn’t do much, and Mickey only raised an indolent eyebrow back. After a few seconds, Ian gave up, sighing and slouching back in his seat. He started tapping his wand again, scooping breakfast into his mouth with his free hand.

          “Cut it back to three times a week?” he offered.

          Mickey raised his eyebrows at him. Ian threw him the best wide, pleading eyes he could muster, and after a few seconds Mickey sighed.

          “Three times a week,” he grumbled, finishing off his bacon and starting in on the pancakes before him.

          Ian flashed him a wide grin and turned back to his breakfast as well. After a second a sharp elbow dug into his ribs, and he winced, rubbing at the spot as he turned back to Mickey.

          “ _What_?”

          “And stop talking about my… _business_ at the breakfast table, you dipshit,” he hissed.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Isn’t Slytherin half your customers?”

          Mickey grinned. “You’d be surprised. Ravenclaws do anything for a study boost, and I got shit that gets those creative juices flowing too…they’re the corner market. Slytherins only want my shit in a pinch.”

          “Whatever you say,” Ian snorted. “ _This_ Slytherin still wants your energy boosts for morning classes.”

          “Obviously. Can’t keep giving you it for free though, I need to start putting money away for a flat next summer, you know?”

          “You want me to help pay for your apartment?” Ian deadpanned incredulously.

          Mickey grinned around his mouthful of pancake. “You know you’ll be around nonstop. You trying to tell me you’re gonna pay rent then?”

          Ian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he agreed, “Fine, I’ll pay for my fucking drugs. Fuck you.”

          Mickey laughed and elbowed him again, lighter this time, playful. “Don’t think you’ll be the one fucking me in my flat, man,” he joked.

          Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes.

          “We’ll see,” he said, jabbing at Mickey’s sides and dodging around the slaps that were thrown his way in retaliation. “Just a matter of time before you lose all control and jump this.”

          “You wish,” said Mickey, pinching his leg when Ian didn’t let up poking him.

          Ian, who already had a light flush on his cheeks, reddened further as he laughed and play fought with Mickey. They didn’t stop until someone shoved his plate over and sat down heavily on his other side, and he didn’t need her loud exclamation to know who it was.

          “Hey, shitfucks,” Mandy greeted. She leaned around Ian to look at her brother, who was still grinning. She ignored their playful energy as she leveled a bored yet judgmental look at Mickey. “Thought maybe you’d already snuck out, Jack Baudet said you were out of the dorm before the fucking sun was up. The fuck did you go?”

          Ian snickered. Mandy glanced at him, but then their attentions both went to Mickey when he cuffed Ian upside the head.

          “I had to help this jerkoff get out of bed on time.” He jabbed his thumb in Ian’s direction as he said it, then added, “Can’t even be ready on his first day, fucking pathetic.”

          Mandy saved Ian from a rebuttal, jumping in for him instead. “Like you’ve ever been on time for _anything_ before McGonagall threatened to kick you out if you didn’t get your shit together.”

          “Yeah, well,” Mickey said, stabbing at his food with his fork and avoiding both their gazes. “Nothing like the threat of twenty-four seven one-on-one with Dad to kick your ass into gear.”

          As a vague sound of acknowledgement, Ian hummed noncommittally, but Mandy snorted from where she was throwing a bunch of different fruits into a bowl and digging in with just her fingers.

          “Guess Ian doesn’t have the incentive. Nice cozy house to go home to, huh? Basically have the run of the place, Fiona could come back to school and everything if you were around all the time.”

          Ian scoffed. “More like Fiona would kick my ass if I tried to pass off that she could get an education instead of me. She nearly had a goddamn breakdown the year she had to drop out. Most of it involved hugging me and Lip a lot and making sure us and the kids promised to stay in school. It was awful.”

          “Is that the year Lip wrote that legendary History of Magic paper on the school system, like, habitually screwing its students?” Mandy asked through a mouthful of strawberry and kiwi.

          Ian made another pseudo-amused noise with his throat. “That would be the year. They set up _another_ charity for kids without the money for supplies but it does jack-all for daycare and health services and shit, it’s ridiculous.”

          “Huh. I’d wondered what started all that ‘good student’ bullshit. He actually went to class for a month or so.”

          Ian scrunched up his nose, confused as he looked her over. “What? Lip always goes to class, that’s his thing. He’s the smart one; it’s what he does.”

          Ian noticed Mickey shooting him an unhappy look, mouth twisted and brows drawn, but before he could decipher it, Mandy barked a laugh.

          “Yeah, but for a month or so he actually _tried_.”

          Ian didn’t want to think about that, the time when Mandy and Lip were _involved_ enough for her to know all this, because it had all been so messy. He glanced at Mickey, sharing his look of raised eyebrows and set mouth, before clearing his throat.

          “So, what classes do we have together this year?” he asked her.

          Mandy, apparently unbothered by the subject change, immediately set about digging through her bookbag for her schedule. Ian looked back at Mickey. He leaned in a bit, their shoulders pressing together as he shifted so his mouth was by Mickey’s ear.

          “Any bruises I should know about?” he whispered. “On her?”

          Mickey gave a little shrug. It looked more like a nervous twitch than a reaction. “Not that you could touch,” he murmured back.

 

\- - -

 

          The first week flew by, as it usually did while Ian was getting caught up with classes and friends and summer gossip. Mandy slept over three nights in a row just to properly get out all the stories she had to tell him, starting with the Muggle boy from the grocery store that she fell in love with two days into break and ending with him saying that he loved her in August and her responding, “Well, who doesn’t?” before going home to finish packing for school. Ian made sure to laugh and sympathize and ask for details unprompted, his genuine curiosity over her drama far more interesting than his summer of working and scrambling to pay bills. Mandy seemed happy, all stretched out on his bed and talking about running away from two different ex-boyfriends and the muggle cops, and she was even more beautiful than normal when she was happy. Ian loved seeing her that way.

          He saw Mickey in passing, mostly meals and sometimes in the afternoon, but Ian was already getting his work piled on (“for OWL practice,” his teachers all chided if anyone complained) and he suspected Mickey was in a similar, if not worse, position.

          By Saturday, he was starting to miss the other of his best friends, so he rose deliberately late and went to sit immediately at the Hufflepuff table, where a head of dark hair was bent over sipping orange juice at the end of the row.

          “Morning,” Ian said with forced cheer when he sat down.

          Mickey glanced at him and grunted a reply, trading his juice for a large gulp of coffee.

          “Someone sounds like they had a good first week,” Ian scoffed. He pulled a plate towards himself and reached around Mickey for the plate of sausages on his other side. Mickey, probably trying to be helpful, shoved them at him and ducked back down towards his plate.

          “NEWTs can eat my ass,” he grumbled. “Three projects due next week, the fuck is that? Flitwick’s got us doing essays like he’s a goddamn—goddamn—”

          “English teacher?” Ian supplied. He had heard some of the Muggle kids from his neighborhood complaining about school before, wondering what fresh hells high school would have in store. They got particularly bitter around the end of August, and vocal with their displeasure.

          “Yeah, sure. English teacher,” said Mickey, though he clearly had no idea what that was. “And Slughorn wants an essay on a potion we have to brew next week—literally what the fuck is that? How about we just brew the damn potion and skip this bullshit with what ingredient does what when mixed with who-the-fuck-cares?”

          Ian knew better than to discredit Mickey’s tirade, so he nodded sagely. When he thought Mickey was done, he said, “Sounds like shit, Mick.”

          “It _is_ like shit!” Mickey said loudly. “If it gets worse than this, I’ll chew my damn hand off and tell them I can’t use a wand.”

          Ian stifled a laugh, but it threatened to burst through each word when he said, “You’ll what?”

          “You know what I mean,” Mickey snapped. “God, maybe I’ll Obliviate my teachers and convince them they just lost my paper.”

          “Most of them’d just make you write another one,” Ian pointed out. “Hey, you got Divination first thing Monday morning, don’t you?” Mickey nodded sullenly. “Ask him the odds of your master plan working, see if you can skip the week.”

          For the first time, Mickey glanced at him more than perfunctorily. Ian raised his eyebrows and spread his hands, wiggling his fingers for effect, and after a second Mickey snorted a laugh and dug back into his food with less aggression than before.

          “Knowing him he’d just tell me Venus was in the right house to fall in love or some shit,” Mickey said through a chuckle.

          Ian elbowed him playfully. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with a teacher and they’ll let you off the hook,” he said.

          Mickey laughed harder and shoved at his shoulder. “You’re such a loser, man,” he said. “God, fucking imagine. Me in love, right?”

          Ian didn’t look at him quite as closely as before, skimming him from the corner of his eye instead. “Yeah,” he forced out a laugh, “Fucking imagine.”

          The thing for Ian was, he knew his best friend was attractive. He knew that he had, briefly in first year, had a very moony-eyed, very romanticized, _very_ unrequited crush on him. He didn’t anymore—he had managed to stuff those feelings far to the back of his mind until they had shrunken and disappeared, but something in him—some part of him that was still eleven years old—panged a bit to hear Mickey say things like that. Mickey was his best friend, and he liked it that way. Ian went on dates and had his boyfriends and messed around at will, and he just kept Mickey, like the secret that he had liked him back then, away from it all. Ian was over him, romantically at least, but some things made his inner younger self wince, and he cringed sympathetically with his eleven year old, lovesick self.

          After breakfast Ian wanted to walk around the grounds, since he hadn’t had the chance to go out much this week. Mickey, though less enthusiastically, agreed to accompany him.

          “So where’s Mandy this morning?” Ian asked as they set off through the grass for their first turn around the lake. “Figured she’d be down at breakfast with you.”

          Mickey kicked idly at a stone in his path. “Nah, she’s got a Care of Magical Creatures essay to write,” he said. “Bet you’re glad you didn’t choose that class, huh?”

          Ian shrugged. “Hey, she wants to work with animals, that’s probably best.”

          Mickey grinned over at him. “Yeah, but your Auror pre-reqs ain’t easy. What’re you taking? Seven different classes?”

          Ian shrugged, a tiny proud smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, but I can drop my electives after this year and just do some core NEWTs for it, to focus better.”

          “Won’t it look better if you have more NEWTs instead of a core few?”

          “Not if extra classes make my grades drop, Mick,” he pointed out. “I need top grades in five classes, and you know I’m no good at Charms.”

          “Oh yeah,” Mickey said like he’d just remembered something, “wanna start with that for our study session tonight? I remembered a few things from fifth year that’ll definitely show up on your exams. You could get a head start if you want.”

          Ian smiled at him thankfully, and Mickey’s grin back made his whole face light up beautifully in the kind of secret smile Ian had only ever seen directed at him.

 

          They finished their walk in time for Ian to get dressed, take a quick run around the grounds, and shower in time to meet back up with Mandy for an early dinner before he had to go see Mickey for their makeshift tutoring session.

          Mickey was already in the room when Ian arrived to the unused, third-floor classroom that they had carved out as their personal space a few years ago, after affirming that nobody ever went there. They had never been able to figure out why the place had been abandoned, because it looked just that—not just unused, but left empty on purpose. Mickey had had to _Alohomora_ open the lock in Ian’s second year, and there was a square cut out of the floor that Ian strongly suspected was the reason for the room’s disuse. The square was glued shut, though, and after a reasonable amount of effort on both their parts to undo it, they had both given up. Years later they barely glanced at the odd spot on the floor, and they were just thankful that nobody came in here, not even to play the strange harp, dusty and leaning against the wall.

          “Fucking finally,” Mickey said as Ian pushed the door shut behind him. “Been here for twenty minutes already.”

          Ian shrugged. “Mandy’s a talkative eater,” he said.

          Mickey made a little noise of accord. He pushed off the teacher’s desk at the front of the room where he’d been waiting, out into the middle of the floor that had long since been cleared of the desks now pushed up against the wall. He faced Ian and raised his wand.

          “Ready?”

          Ian nodded and situated himself a good few yards away from Mickey. He planted his feet and raised his wand as well.

          “We started Silencing spells already,” Ian started, “but I’m not good. You wanna do blocking first?”

          “We covered that last year. Far as I remember, you got pretty good.”

          “Just as a review!”

          “Ian,” Mickey sighed. “The whole point is do stuff you suck at. Look, you helped me with blocking so I’m gonna help you with Silencing, okay?”

          Ian’s lip jutted out a little. “But I hate that one,” he protested.

          Mickey just rolled his eyes and ruffled his hair up a little, relaxing from his dueling stance. “Yeah, yeah, you always hate shit you can’t do. Come on, wand up. _Finite Incantatem_ should be fine as a reversal spell. If you leave me mute I’ma be seriously pissed.”

          Ian snorted. “You, having to rely on angry looks and furious gestures?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Everyone would be so shocked!”

          Mickey flipped him off. “Come on. Less talking, more wandwork.”

          Ian rolled his eyes but replanted his feet while across from him Mickey did the same. Mickey held up three fingers to count down.

          _Three…two…one…_

          “ _Silencio_!” Ian shouted, brandishing his wand at Mickey.

          A few strands of hair brushing his forehead rustled slightly as though caught in the lightest summer breeze. Ian huffed in irritation, settling his arm back down by his side. His brow drew when Mickey laughed.

          “Fuck you,” Ian said sourly.

          “That was pathetic,” Mickey managed. “Oh god, okay. I’m good.” He took a deep breath and seemed to sober, so Ian dropped his defensive stance. “Look, you’re waving your arm around too much. I know the twirl at the end there’s complicated but you gotta just do it all succinct, like—”

          He twirled his wand in front of him, and though he said no spell to accompany it, a couple of sparks trickled from the end of his wand when he was finished.

          “You’ve done nonverbal spells,” Ian accused, eyes narrowing at him.

          Mickey shrugged and spread his hands, but his lip was jutting out like he wanted to smile. Ian rolled his eyes and got back in position.

          “One, two, three— _Silencio_!” he shouted, while Mickey scrambled to get into a defensive stance.

          This time a few sparks shot out the end of his wand, more energized than the ones that had fallen limply from Mickey’s, but they still fell well short of where Mickey stood. Ian stared dejectedly at the spot on the floor where they had rained down.

          “Getting better,” Mickey said, though Ian could recognize when he was being deliberately upbeat. “Listen, it’s tough enough on little animals and rodents and shit, and you’re starting out on a _person_ over a couple yards away. I’d say you’re doing pretty good already.”

          “Yeah, yeah,” Ian muttered, pulling at his hair in frustration and tapping his wand against his thigh with his free hand. “Can we just go again?”

          Mickey’s expression pinched, presumably at his tone, but he nodded, spreading and planting his feet back out before him.

          They practiced for another half an hour but Ian couldn’t get it right; even when he finally managed to get the wand movements right and spell strong enough to reach Mickey, all he did was grow croaky and scratchy for a few minutes, like he’d lost his voice, but Ian hadn’t robbed him of it. Frustrated, Ian balled his hands up so that his nails dug sharply into his palms.

          “You mind if we do something else for a little bit?” Ian asked through painfully gritted teeth.

          Mickey raised his eyebrows but, after a second, nodded. “Wanna help me with my Protean Charms? Flitwick says they show up on exams nine times out of ten because they’re so fucking weird. Or, you know, creative or whatever the fuck he said. Oh, and I got a Divination essay I need help on, if you wanna help me make up a whole bunch of shit about planets aligning.”

          With frustration still spiking sharp and hot through his body, Ian only nodded curtly to show compliance. Mickey threw him a grateful smile and headed over to where he’d discarded his bag by the door.

          Ian couldn’t help him much with his Protean Charms other than to check if the frills on the pillow Mickey gave him moved when Mickey rustled the corresponding ones on his own. Every once in awhile Mickey would curse and turn to scribble something down on the parchment beside him before going back at it, and Ian started mentally mapping out planetary movements from his two years’ Divination knowledge to help Mickey get through his essay faster later on.

          They spent another half hour doing Protean Charms until Mickey, triumphant, shrunk the cushions back down and returned them to his bag, and then they laid down on the floor together to pour over Mickey’s prediction charts.

          “I thought Firenze didn’t give two shits about personal predictions,” Ian murmured. With Mickey’s shoulder pressed along his and his body close enough that Ian could brush his hair with his nose if he turned his head fully, his previous irritation had melted somewhat.

          Mickey shrugged, scratching out a misspelled word that Ian silently pointed out. “He and Trelawney finally made nice,” he muttered. He scratched the end of his quill against a spot behind his ear before writing something else down. “Word is the Ministry’s on McGonagall’s ass for the curriculum changing year to year, so they had to team up. Different teachers, roughly the same course.”

          Ian breathed out noisily. “Sucks for you, good for me. I have Trelawney so at least she’ll have to stick to something less ridiculous than tea leaves.”

          Mickey snorted. “Don’t be so sure. They say they’re all teamed up but I still spent last Wednesday _and_ Friday in a goddamn planetarium. Fuck, what happens when Mars is aligned with Jupiter?”

          Ian shrugged, the movement pressing his shoulder even further into Mickey’s. “I don’t know. Everything gets really big and hot?”

          Ian flushed as soon as he said it, and Mickey snorted. “Alright, contrary to popular belief, not everything revolves around your dick.”

          Ian slapped at his arm. “Shut the fuck up. You know you want to get on this.”

          Mickey shook his head, a little smile around his lips. “Will you shut your ridiculous mouth and help me out for a second? What’s the temperature this Friday? That affects the tides, doesn’t it?”

          After they had sorted through most of Mickey’s Divination homework, albeit with a fair amount of educated guesswork and flat-out lying, they stuffed all their things away and got to their feet, pulling their wands out and squaring back up to have another few rounds with Silencing Charms.

          “Alright,” Mickey said, brow drawn in by proxy determination, as though he could transmit his confidence to Ian and his too-tight wand grip, “come on, you got this.

          Ian clenched his jaw for a second, willing all his focus to transform into a successful spell. He brandished his wand and yelled, “ _Silencio!_ ”

          For a split second he thought it had worked, because Mickey’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted. Ian lifted out of his offensive stance a little, face melting halfway to excitement, but then Mickey sagged and let out a ragged breath and said, “Shit.”

          Ian wanted to throw his wand across the room. He settled for throwing a punch at nothing and yelling a strangled curse to the air.

          “I thought that worked,” Mickey said apologetically. “I felt it go over my hair—” he swept a hand through it to demonstrate the spell’s path, “and something in my throat—I don’t think it was strong enough. I was knocked dumb for a second but…”

          He made a face and spread his hands. Ian spat another curse.

          They tried a few more times, each even less successful than the last. After his fourth go Ian was ready to kick his foot through a wall, but he composed himself, battling the anger down to an internal flame and trying not to snap too hard when Mickey didn’t follow his lead of grabbing his books and heading for the door to call it quits for the night.

          Ian turned around with his hand on the door handle. He raised his eyebrows impatiently at his friend.

          Mickey twisted his mouth to the side, examining Ian for a second, before he said, “One more time? Come on, one more. Last one’s the charm. Come on.”

          Ian knew he looked mutinous for a second, but then he schooled it back down. He snorted and threw his bag back to the floor. “That was the shittiest pun,” he told his friend. Mickey grinned.

          They got into position one last time, Ian with his back near the door, Mickey halfway across the room. Ian’s eyes narrowed, focusing on his wand and his target and imagining the rush of power that would exit his wandtip and blast at Mickey, disabling him. At the peak of his concentration, he waved his wand and practically growled the incantation: “ _Silencio!_ ”

          The flash of light flew right into Mickey’s chest this time. Not wanting to get his hopes up, Ian straightened, arms falling loosely to his sides as he waited for Mickey’s reaction with bated breath. Mickey blinked at him a few times first, and when his mouth finally opened, he paused like a question was on the tip of his tongue—and then his face split into the widest smile.

          “Yes!” Ian shouted, punching the air triumphantly. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

          Victory settling into his bones and pooling low and warm in his stomach, Ian threw himself across the distance between them and wrapped his arms tight around Mickey’s neck. Mickey’s came up around his back, low, near his waist, and Ian was lifted off his feet for a second when Mickey rocked back onto his heels.

          “Yes!” Ian said again when Mickey set him down on his feet. He pumped his arms and did a pleased little spin on the spot. “ _Fuck_ yes!”

          Mickey was beaming proudly at him. Ian undid the charm, and Mickey rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “Celebratory dessert? I stole some pumpkin pasties from the Great Hall.”

          Ian grinned and nodded. They slung their bags back over their shoulders and headed out into the hallways, and Ian threw his arm over Mickey’s shoulder as soon as they shut the door. Although Mickey shrugged him off, Ian threw him a huge smile anyway, still riding from the high from his success all the way down to the Hufflepuff common room and to their favorite chairs by the window, where Mickey _Accio_ ed their pastries from his dorm and they sat chewing and talking for hours before they headed to bed.

 

\- - -

 

          Ian made it through his first month of classes largely because of Mickey’s tutoring and Mandy’s readiness to be his study partner. Despite being in separate houses, he and Mandy were assigned the same assignments and lessons, which made homework sessions significantly easier. Between all the work he had, meals, and not enough sleep, Ian spent most of his first month in class or studying with one of the Milkoviches—or trying to study before they invariably dissolved into some form of slacking off or another. By the time October came around, Ian was already more than ready for Christmas break.

          “Well, Christmas I can’t promise you,” Karen said sympathetically when Ian grumbled this to one of his dorm mates one morning at the beginning of the month, breaking into his conversation without a thought, “but I can offer you some good old fashioned fun blowing off steam in town.”

          Ian looked up at her where she was standing next to the armchair he was cushioned in. “Town?”

          “The village,” she clarified. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the notice board by the fire, and Ian pushed himself to his feet and went to study the signs posted up.

          Most of the ones from the beginning of the year were entirely obscured, new notices pinned up every other day. Most of them were jokes, funny advertisements for cuddle buddies or fuckbuddies; some of them were looking for study partners or someone to write essays for them (paid under the table, of course); some of them were legitimate school notices about Quidditch sign ups or forbidden items. Ian studied the mess of posters for a new one that fit Karen’s description, and quickly found the dates for the first Hogsmeade weekend pasted directly over a plea for someone of age to deliver firewhiskey to the fourth year girls’ dorm.

          “Thank god,” Ian breathed, dropping back a few steps to clear the way for a small group of kids pressing in behind him to see as well. “I needed a fucking day off.”

          Karen smirked over at him. “OWLs getting to you already, Gallagher? You’re not gonna last the year with that fucking attitude, damn. Where’s your can-do spirit?”

          She was chuckling at him, though, so Ian grinned back and flipped her off.

          “There it is,” she laughed. “You coming to breakfast or what? I’d kill eight men for some bacon right now.”

          Ian followed her out of the common room, and only once they were a few hallways down did she flip her hair over her shoulder and peer at him more closely than before, expression serious. Ian braced himself for a somber or perhaps personal question, but instead she just leaned in closer and said,

          “So, Hogsmeade. Are you going with a date or not? I heard Parker was looking for someone, and Wallace—”

          Ian snorted when he realized what direction this conversation was going in, cutting her off before she could start suggesting more blind dates. The last three she had set him up on had gone legendarily badly, and he was fully prepared to never take her up on an offer like those again.

          “I’m not getting in between him and Carina for real,” Ian asserted. “No fucking way. She’s already gone Ice Queen on me and that’s just with a couple of poorly constructed rumors.”

          Karen arched one of her manicured eyebrows and said, “So you’re telling me that it was a _rumor_ that you and Peter made out while they were on a break last year?”

          Ian smirked at her. “I’m saying it was a rumor that I still want to get my hands on his greasy fucking skin.”

          Karen wrinkled her nose, squealing dramatically, “Ew! Was he greasy… _everywhere_?”

          “Jesus, Karen,” Ian laughed as they made their way into the Great Hall and set off for the Slytherin table, “I didn’t dry hump him in public, we just kissed a little behind Puddifoot’s! Seriously, just tongue action. No weird PDA stuff.”

          Karen nudged him with her elbow before slipping into a seat, and he sat down beside her and started filling his plate.

          “So what was the kissing like?” she asked as she tore into a slice of banana bread. “Bad? He looks like a bad kisser.”

          Ian pressed his lips together, but after a second he broke out laughing. “It was…really wet,” he admitted, which made Karen laugh even harder. “God, that’s why they call him Sloppy Pete, you know?”

          “Ew!” she shrieked again between peals of laughter. Ian smothered his own amusement enough to start digging into his food.

          He had just taken a sip of pumpkin juice when someone said loudly from in front of them, “Oh god, what’s got Karen in stitches over here?”

          Ian looked up to grin at Mandy and beckoned her into a seat across from him, and she sat herself down immediately, giggling at the pair of them with their red faces and still-bubbling chuckles.

          “What is it?” she asked again.

          “Nothing, nothing,” Karen insisted, sobering enough to wave her hand dismissively. She leaned forwards on her elbows so she could prop her head up on her hands and ask earnestly, “So, you have a date for Hogsmeade next weekend yet or what?”

          Mandy’s smile turned sly. “I saw the notice last night,” she confessed. “Of course I have a date.”

          Karen leaned forward even further and began talking names and places and activities, and for awhile Ian tuned out as the girls gossiped together.

          Someone walked into the hall after a few minutes, and though he had no physically remarkable attributes—nothing particularly striking about his appearance, no strangely colored hair or unnaturally large features—he caught Ian’s attention straight away. Ian perked up, hastily beckoning Mickey over. Mickey raised his eyebrows as he paused, looking at him frantically waving, but after a split second he made his way towards the Slytherin table.

          “They’ve been talking about Hogsmeade dates for ten minutes,” Ian muttered, tugging on Mickey’s sleeve until he sat down beside him. “Fucking save me.”

          Mickey smirked. Ian watched as he got comfortable in his seat and pulled a half-gone plate of sausages towards himself, not bothering to spoon them onto a fresh dish before he started eating right off the serving platter.

          “What about you?” Mickey asked.

          Ian looked back at him blankly. “What _about_ me?”

          “Ain’t you got a date yet for this shit? Figured you’d be all in with the planning crew.” Mickey waved the hand not holding a fork towards the girls as he spoke.

          Ian made a face and started picking at a piece of french toast, tearing off crumbs and letting them sprinkle down on his plate. After they had accumulated enough, he dragged his index finger over them, collecting a few before sticking his finger into his mouth and sucking it clean.

          “No,” Ian said, after a moment, turning back to find Mickey still watching him. “Going stag this time. Figured after the fiasco of last Hogsmeade visit—” He mimed an explosion with the hand not scrounging up more crumbs.

          Mickey grinned. “So that was true? You got caught making out in front of the Shrieking Shack by five teachers?”

          “It was four,” Ian corrected hotly. “And it’s not my fault Santiago was moaning like a fourteen year old virgin instead of a damn sixth year.”

          “Man,” Mickey laughed, “they thought the fucking Shack was getting haunted again!”

          Ian glared at him. “Shut up.”

          Mickey laughed harder.

          “Shut _up_! I have a bad track record with dates, okay? Fuck,” he groaned. He folded his arms on the table and dropped his head down onto them, so his voice came out slightly muffled when he said, “I should stop going to the village altogether.”

          “Nah,” Mickey said, and Ian looked up when he felt Mickey’s knuckles lightly tapping his arm. He looked all bright-cheeked when he bit his lip and said, casually, “You should just come with me.”

          Ian sat up a little straighter, the prospect sinking in. Mickey _would_ be good to go with—he wouldn’t have to worry about third-wheeling anyone’s date, and it probably wouldn’t end in more feuds or public humiliation, as the rest of his Hogsmeade visits always seemed to. Ian blinked at him, but before he could respond, Karen piped up behind him.

          “That’s kind of an awesome idea,” she said brightly. “Mandy and I have dates, but you two can go together and we can all meet up after! Plus, if things go south, we can just head down two shops and meet you somewhere to bitch about boys.”        

          Mickey’s lip curled as he looked at her. “You know, despite being out at school, there are still a million other things I’d rather fucking do than talk about boys. With _any_ of you,” he added, turning his glare on Ian and Mandy in turn.

          Mandy smirked. “Fine, me and Karen and Ian can talk about boys and Straighty McStraighterson over there can pretend he’s not totally into it. It’ll be just like at home!”

          Mickey flipped off his sister. “You’re the only straight one here, Mandy!”

          Her bottom lip jutted out in a way that she always insisted was adorable. “You don’t know me,” she said with a shrug.

          Ian laughed and elbowed Mickey in the side, shooting him a look that urged him to relax. After a second, he felt him unwind minutely beside him.

          “So it’s settled?” Karen pressed, leaning forwards so that she was somewhat in the middle of their foursome.  “I’ll finish up with Dylan around four, probably—we get there are noon, right? So yeah, four. And whenever Mandy’s done with Robbie we’ll all go out for butterbeers! Sound good?”

          Mandy nodded and said cheerfully, “I’m in!” and Mickey grumbled something that sounded like, “Suck me off, Jackson,” while he crossed his arms and looked away from them all. Karen, seeming satisfied, turned away from Ian and Mickey and resumed whatever conversation she’d been having before, her and Mandy leaning their heads practically together across the table to talk. Mickey was still pouting when Ian turned to look at him, though.

          He nudged him with his elbow. Mickey turned his head, and Ian leaned in closer. Nobody was paying them any attention, but their bubble seemed extra private when they were close like this.

          “I’m in if you’re in,” he said. He widened his eyes a little, trying to make the offer tempting by looking as cute and innocent as possible.

          Mickey, as usual, dropped his guard when he looked at him. His arms uncrossed and fell back to his lap. “Yeah?” he asked.

          Ian grinned, knocking their elbows together meaningfully as he turned back to his breakfast. He shot Mickey one more glance and said, “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:)](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/)


	3. hogsmeade village: part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, if you did go on a date,” he started, blithe even in the face of Mickey’s warning glare, “what would you want it to be like?”  
> “Gallagher,” he warned. The use of his surname joined with Mickey’s overall tense demeanor suggested that he would rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than continue this conversation, but Ian knew him too well to be afraid of his departure from this bar stool, let alone from this mortal plane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic actually goes on! the shock! the confusion! i know, i know. sorry. motivation has been low as hell lately. anyway, have a big long platonic date in hogsmeade for your troubles xo

          Two days before the Hogsmeade trip, Ian was laying bored on his back beneath one of the beech trees beside the black lake, a textbook open beside him and his wand twirling aimlessly in the air. Another shower of sparks rained down on him, and he swished his feet in the lake a few times before he felt more than heard a body settle beside his against the tree. He didn’t have to look over to know that it was Mickey next to him; he could tell by the way he moved and settled comfortably next to him, knew him by movement and noise alone. Ian glanced up at him anyway.

          Mickey met his eyes and snorted loudly, and Ian gave his attention back to the show his wand was creating.

          “This how you’re getting ready for our big date?” Mickey drawled.

          Ian rolled his head just enough to raise an indolent eyebrow in his direction. Mickey smirked back at him.

          “Didn’t realize you were so serious about it,” Ian said after a second, as he once again turned back to his twirling wand above him, deliberately not looking in Mickey’s direction. “If you were this into me, you could’ve just said.”

          Mickey scoffed. A rustling came from his direction, and after a few seconds Ian was hit with the unmistakable scent of one of his scented cigarettes, one of the black market kinds he bought once a week. His dealer had tons, one with different colored smoke and kinds that did smoke tricks without any skill or effort from the user, but Mickey had stuck with the same kind he always got, a simple, cheap one that smelled like mint.

          “You wish,” he huffed. A second later, he breathed a long stream of smoke directly into Ian’s face. Ian, who only preferred the unscented type of smoke and even then only occasionally, coughed feebly and waved the smoke away from his face.

          “Asshole,” he hissed. “Why’re you here?”

          “Just making sure you’re all set,” Mickey said easily. “Wanna make sure I’m not stuck wandering all around the village by myself while you’re in detention for not doing an essay or some shit.”

          “Fuck you,” Ian said, but without heat. He made a grasping motion for Mickey’s cigarette until he passed it over, and Ian didn’t cough as he breathed in a lungful, despite the unfamiliar sensation of the mint taste entering his system. He blew it out again and added, “Just because we’re not all in for the same punishment doesn’t mean we all want to slack off like you do.”

          Mickey kicked lightly at his shin. “Asshole,” he muttered again.

          Ian beamed. “You know it,” he said brightly, passing the cigarette back. “So, what’d you have planned for our big date anyway?”

          Mickey’s laugh, cut sharply by the smoke in his lungs, devolved into a hacking cough somewhere in the middle of it, and he choked for a second while Ian watched him passively.

          “Fuck you, I ain’t planning shit,” Mickey half-said, half violently coughed. “Aren’t you supposed to woo me or something?”

          “Oh, please,” Ian scoffed, “ _You_ should be worrying about seducing _me_.”

          “So just stand there, existing, with a dick?”

          “Fuck you.”

          When Mickey didn’t reply, he chose not to say anything more on the subject either, instead opting to center his attention on grabbing for the cigarette that Mickey held barely out of his reach rather than pressing the point. After awhile they dissolved into a petty slapping fight instead of continuing to bicker over the particulars of their plans for Hogsmeade.

          “Alright, alright!” Mickey shouted after awhile, fending off the last of Ian’s feeble slaps and settling more comfortably back against the trunk of the tree as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth. Ian smirked, laying back down on the ground, his head slightly closer to Mickey’s leg than before. “Jesus, you’re relentless.”

          “You know it,” Ian teased, poking at Mickey’s shin, which was lying right by the crown of his head. He delighted privately in the way Mickey squirmed away from him. “So, I win, which leaves you to plan out our date together.”

          Mickey huffed and breathed in another lungful of smoke; Ian could tell without taking his eyes off the sky, clued in by the congested breath from Mickey’s direction. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

          “Jackass,” Mickey muttered.

          Ian grinned and pressed a little closer to his leg without denying it. Despite his annoyance, Ian felt wanted and safe huddled so close by, the sun streaming down warm on his face through the beech tree’s canopy and Mickey’s body heat beating warm and alive by his own.

 

          “I’m fucked,” was the first thing Karen said to him when he sat down beside her at the Slytherin table later that night.

          Familiar and unbothered by her dramatics, Ian scooped a few different piles of eggs and bacon onto his plate before bothering to ask, “Are you?”

          When he glanced over, Karen was lifting her head out of her arms enough to glare spectacularly at him. Even knowing her for so long, Ian was not unaffected by the power of her displeasure, and he recoiled a little as she snarled at him.

          “ _Yes_ ,” she snapped. “My fucking dad…”

          She trailed off then, and for the first time, Ian was alerted to the very real nature of her distress. He abandoned his breakfast to peer over at her, stretching out automatically to rest a hand on her back.

          “Your dad?” he prompted, gentler than before.

          She buried her head back into her arms. The little Ian could see of her face had turned a bright red, and Ian suspected that she may have succumbed to an emotion for a rare moment.

          “Karen?” he tried, hesitantly.

          “My dad,” she breathed in a rush, like it might have come out in a sob if she said it any slower. “He’s…divorcing my—mom.”

          Ian withdrew his hand instantly, struck speechless by the admission, and for a moment all he could manage was a startled, “Oh.” Then, gathering himself, he cast around for an appropriate question and finding none, he settled instead on, “I’m so sorry, Karen.”

          “No,” she said quickly, a bit snippily but without any real heat as she finally unburied her head. Her cheeks didn’t look tear-stained, but she still seemed distressed as she swiped her hands through her hair and down the sides of her face. “It’s not that. He’s an asshole, and I’m not sorry and don’t you _dare_ feel sorry for me.”

          “I—I don’t—” Ian stumbled, trying to divert her animosity, but Karen was already speaking over him like she hadn’t heard him, or rather like didn’t care. She probably didn’t.

          “He’s an asshole and I hope he _rots_ ,” she snarled, staring straight ahead like Ian wasn’t there. Then she softened when she added, “but he lost all his money gambling the past few years and my mom can’t afford the house on her own. We’re—She has enough trouble getting out as it is, you know what she’s like, we can’t lose the house! We won’t have any—She’s gonna be so screwed, Mom’s not made for living on the streets and we’re just so _screwed_.”

          “Hey,” Ian said, snapping his fingers gently to catch her attention. She turned to him, looking pained. He offered her a lopsided smile and said, “I’m sure we can think of something, okay? Don’t worry, worst comes to worst and you can always find somewhere shitty in the city until something better comes along.”

          Karen grimaced. “I don’t _want_ somewhere in the city,” she grumbled, but as she sounded more petulant than legitimately protesting, Ian just chuckled a little and reached to steal a bite of her eggs. Within a minute they were engaged in a petty squabble for her breakfast and Karen, Ian was relieved to see, seemed to momentarily forget about her house troubles.

          They were interrupted by Lip after a few minutes, who came over to ask Ian if he still needed his transfiguration essay proofread and stalked off a short time later with a few pointed glares in Karen’s direction. Ian, uncomfortable with choosing between his brother and his friend, said nothing, but Karen sneered the way she did when she was enjoying something and poked her fork around in her eggs.

          “Can’t believe that asshole hasn’t let that go,” she muttered.

          Ian, less than comfortable knowing that Lip had screwed or been screwed by most of his friends, paired with the fact that almost none of his escapades ever ended well for both parties, made a noncommittal noise with his throat. Karen seemed prepared to go on, her mood marginally improved with this new target to rib, but Ian, staring after his brother’s retreating back, interrupted her before she could get going.

          “Hey, I have an idea,” he said suddenly, derailing the rant she’d been gearing up for.

          Karen raised a less-than-impressed eyebrow at him. “Oh, do you?” She sounded bored.

          “Yeah,” Ian said, undeterred. “Not about that—” he flapped his hand in his brother’s direction, and Karen softened slightly, “—about what to do about your house.”

          “Oh.” She slumped a little more into her plate, but looked up at Ian anyway and said, “Go on.”

          “House next door to us was up for sale over the summer,” he said. “It’s shit, you know I live in the _worst_ neighborhood, but that means it’ll be real cheap. I could write Fiona, as if it’s still on the market.”

          “What? You wanna be neighbors now? Don’t I get enough of you during the school year?”

          Despite her acid tone, Ian could tell she was pleased, so he grinned at her.

          “Like you could ever get enough of me,” he teased.

          She sighed, tipping her head to the side and examining her cuticles; Ian could tell she was interested, even with her deliberately not looking at him. In a remarkably good imitation of casual, she asked, “What’s the neighborhood like? I just turned of age, I’m not about to go Muggle over break just because the neighbors are idiots.”

          “They’re nonmagic, they’re not idiots,” Ian pointed out. “And it’s a half-and-half place, should be fine. A bunch of the wizard neighbors have wards up to keep the Muggle ones from getting all suspicious. I’m sure it’s no problem.”

          She huffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder before pinning Ian with a serious stare. “If you’re talking this place up, Ian Gallagher—”

          “I’m not!” He held his hands up innocently. “Seriously! It’s shit, I won’t lie, but it could work.” He paused, and when she didn’t offer anything up, he started, “So does that mean you’re gonna—”

          “I don’t know if I like the sound of this place,” she said. “I’m used to all-magic neighbors. You know I hate reigning myself in!”

          “I’d never ask you to,” he said solemnly. “Just promise me you’ll think it over?”

          With a sigh, she acquiesced, but not before tacking on, “I would have to get unrestricted visitation hours and the right to punch Lip whenever I see him.”

          Karen laughed when he protested, and when he was done threatening to stab her with his aloft fork, she said that she would owl her mom about it later.

 

          The day of their first Hogsmeade visit dawned bright and crisp, the first truly fall day Ian had seen this year. The leaves were starting to turn orange, and once he, Mickey, Mandy, and Karen were all cleared, they set out towards the village; Ian thought the air itself smelled like autumn, cold and sharp. He liked it. Fall reminded him of pumpkins and warm blankets and sitting with Mickey by the fire for hours until one of them fell asleep.

          Mandy and Karen both left once they passed the first stores, heading for their respective dates. Mickey nudged Ian’s arm with his elbow once the girls had gone, nodding his head in the direction of Honeydukes, and Ian followed him down the road and into the shop.

          Ian veered off for the fizzing whizbees like usual while Mickey traipsed behind him, slowing too often to look at different candies while Ian sped heedlessly ahead, and Ian quickly lost him. He turned back up while Ian was piling a fourth set of whizbees and packet of super-sour worms into his arms, plus a box of licorice wands in a brand new flavor, and then Mickey dragged him across the shop to look at their new novelty candy by the front window.

          A lot of old customer favorites were displayed as flavors of the month, but Mickey bypassed that stand and beelined for the newly developed or freshly imported stacks. Ian left him shaking two identical boxes to determine which was fuller and headed around the other side of the display, his back to the window as he perused the selection. He had just set down a box of hyperfocus gum to pick up a chocolate bar that promised instant sleep when someone knocked into his elbow deliberately. He looked up, ready to snap at them, when he saw that it was just Mickey.

          “Hey,” he said idly, returning to reading the warning label on his chocolate bar.

          He saw Mickey nodding in the corner of his vision, right before he plucked the bar out of his grasp, ignoring the indignant noise that followed. Mickey turned the bar over, examining the effects and warnings listed there, before looking back up at Ian. He wore that sly, easy smile that always spelled trouble.

          “You think I could slip this to someone during class and get them to pass out? Like, in Defense or something with a strict professor so they get detention?”

          “Stop wreaking havoc for no reason.” Ian rolled his eyes as he reached to get the candy back, but Mickey only held it out of his reach and returned to reading the label, shoving Ian back with his other hand. Eventually Ian stopped fighting, instead pulling away, straightening his robes, and muttering, “Asshole. No one’s gonna take it from you anyway, you’d be so suspicious doing something like that.”

          “Excuse me,” Mickey said indignantly, raising his eyes to meet Ian’s. “You’re the one who can’t play anything cool! Me? I’m cool, I’m so fucking cool.”

          “First of all, you’re the biggest dork I know.” Ian dodged the ensuing jab for his ribs and carried on like he hadn’t tried to hit him. “Second, I didn’t mean you wouldn’t be casual. It’s just—everyone knows you’re an asshole, Mickey, no way they trust that you’re giving out sweets as some random act of kindness or whatever.”

          Mickey scowled but put the chocolate back anyway. Ian immediately grabbed it up again and added it to the growing pile cradled in one arm, ignoring Mickey’s exasperated judgment from beside him.

          “Fine,” he muttered finally. “Come on, I wanna check out the new Bertie Bott’s flavors.”

          Ian grabbed a pack of hyperfocus gum to give to Lip later and followed Mickey back to the aisles to find the every flavor beans. After five minutes spent fighting over which box sounded fuller and another five convincing Mickey to let Ian have a handful, Mickey took down two boxes—one regular, one a promised _summer special!_ which advertised flavors like beach and lemonade and, frighteningly, suntan lotion—and they headed up to the counter to pay for their candy. They ended up having to pool their money to pay for it all, and as soon as they were outside, they emptied all their boxes into the paper bag they had been given at checkout so that they could walk around with it and share.

          “Man, I think we just fucked ourselves,” Mickey complained.

          Ian stopped trying to scrounge out a red every flavor bean from between a pile of whizbees and looked up at him. “Huh? We did?”

          “Yeah, that’s most of the cash. We could probably _just_ afford two firewhiskeys but that’s only one apiece and it ain’t enough to fuck us up.”

          Ian shrugged and held the bag out for Mickey, who rummaged within for awhile, briefly forgetting his concerns. Only when he pulled back, chewing on a mouthful of differently flavored beans, did Ian pull the bag back and fish around for a sour worm.

          “Look, I’m sure Fiona’ll send me a couple more Galleons for this semester, at least til we can start family scamming again during break. When are you selling next?”

          Mickey sniffed, rubbing at his nose a little, which was tinged pink from the cold. “Got a low-level deal this Sunday,” he said finally. “Guy buys every week. I just wanted to get fucked up this weekend.”

          Ian laughed, bumping his shoulder to Mickey’s as they wandered down the street more. “You want to get fucked up every weekend,” he pointed out.

          Mickey just grunted his accord. “Shut up, asshole,” he added. “You want to try and sneak into the Shrieking Shack again this year or what?”

          Ian nodded, and before Mickey could say anything else, he shouted suddenly, “Race ya!” and took off running down the street without warning, shoving their bag of candy hastily into his pocket. He heard Mickey exclaim a curse behind him before the sound of his pounding footsteps followed, and Ian threw his head back and let out a wild laugh towards the sky, enjoying the thrill that thrummed through him at the petty flight and chase. He pumped his legs faster when he heard Mickey catching up behind him, and didn’t stop when he ran out of breath nor when heard Mickey’s shouting growing fainter behind him—he halted only when he reached the fence that led down the path to the Shack, and when he did, he grabbed the gate and doubled over, his breathing rough and sharp in his lungs as he pulled in only cold air.

          He straightened after a few deep breaths, his heart still beating rapidly—but as soon as he let go of the fence, something warm and solid hurtled bluntly into his side, and he shouted out as the body tackled him straight down into the leaves and dirt.

          He could hear quiet laughter cut with panting huffing into his ear, and he struggled beneath the hold on him.

          “Fuck, Mickey!” He shoved at him again, but Mickey remained firmly on top of him. “Get off!”

          “Fuck _you_ ,” Mickey said lightly, shoving Ian’s head towards the dirt. Ian batted at his hands until he relented, then shifted and squirmed beneath him until he was lying on his back looking up at him. “Fucking racing me and shit, that’s bullshit, Ian. I fucking hate running.”

          “Ain’t my fault you’ve got tiny legs,” Ian snickered. He poked at Mickey’s thighs where they were bracketing his own, and Mickey shuffled as he sat up until he was sitting on Ian’s stomach.

          “Fuck off, I got normal person legs,” he dismissed. “We can’t all be a gangly goddamn giant.”

          “I’m barely taller than you,” Ian reminded him. “Shit, Mickey. Will you get up?”

          Mickey dug his knees hard into Ian’s sides before he rocked to his feet, clamoring away from him so he could extend a hand and pull Ian up beside him.

          “Asshole,” Ian muttered, shoving hard at his shoulder.

          Mickey grabbed his arm, and though Ian put up as good as fight as he could, Mickey eventually got him bent over in a chokehold, and he dug his fingers unsuccessfully into his ribs until he gave up and called, “Alright, uncle, uncle!”

          “Damn right.”

          Mickey shoved him as he let him go so he stumbled a few feet away, but he rejoined his side and they shuffled closer to the gate together, laying their elbows over the top to peer over towards the abandoned, dilapidated building a little ways away.

          “What do you figure?” Ian whispered, leaning closer to him despite nobody being around.

          “Figure there’s a way inside and we just gotta find it,” said Mickey. “Come on, we’ve only been at it four years—fifth one’s the charm, right?”

          “I don’t think that’s the saying, Mick,” he commented lightly, but he fell into step with him as Mickey started pacing up and down the fenceline, helping him stoop to check the bottom and inspect it for holes or breaks where they could rattle it open, but like every other time they had tried, they found nothing that would let them near. The fence was too high to scale and the gate sealed tight with what seemed to be professional magic, and no matter how many times they tapped around with their wands, nothing seemed capable of breaking through.

          Ian stood off by the gate, humming absently while Mickey laid down and rattled one of the fence posts to check for stability.

          “Come on, Mick,” he sighed finally. “Mandy must have fucked and ditched her date by now. We should go meet up with her.”

          “I want to get inside there!” Mickey insisted, though he seemed much less intimidating while lying face-down in leaves.

          “There’s nothing in there,” Ian said. “You’ve heard the stories, it was just an old werewolf hideout. I want to explore it just as much as you, but Mandy—”

          “Fuck my sister,” Mickey snapped, getting to his knees and brushing the dirt and debris from his robes. “I’m getting in there this year. Are you gonna help me or are you gonna go get dinner with my fucking sister?”

          “Alright,” Ian sighed, relenting. Of course he was going to stay with Mickey and help, however trivial his quest. “Have you tried that one?” he added, pointing to a different post.

          Mickey got back down on his hands and knees and went around checking all the fence posts around the Shack until it stretched out into the woods and he couldn’t try any further. Ian got bored watching him and wandered back over to the main gate; he rattled it a few times just to be sure, then stood up on his toes to squint closer at the top.

          “Hey Mick,” he called.

          Mickey made an inarticulate noise from a little ways down to indicate that he was listening.

          “Mick, what about going over?”

          He finally got back on flat feet and glanced over to Mickey, in time to see him crawl away from where he was stretching an arm underneath a large fallen tree branch to check the post on the other side. Mickey got to his feet and eyed Ian critically.

          “There’s no way over.” Mickey pointed towards the top of the fence. “That’s a good three feet above your head…no way you jump that, even on those freakishly long legs.”

          Ian hummed noncommittally, turning back to the gate. He heard Mickey approaching and felt him settle close to his side, but neither of them said anything as they continued to peer at the fence, searching for solutions. Finally, Ian turned to Mickey with an eyebrow raised conspiratorially.

          “What if we fly over?”

          Mickey looked back at him, somehow both surprised and unimpressed at the suggestion at the same time. “What, like on brooms?”

          “Sure,” said Ian, spreading his hands. “Why not?”

          “Well, we don’t have brooms, for one,” Mickey pointed out idly, even though most of his attention seemed to be on the fence in front of them. He stepped closer and closed his hand around one of the slats in the metal fence, but he didn’t rattle it like he had been doing earlier. “And I doubt we could get a school broom all the way down to the village…”

          Ian could tell he liked the idea though, and he pressed his advantage.

          “It could work though,” he said. “Commandeer a broom…we’d only need one, it’s kind of risky stealing two from somewhere but I’d bet we could both fit on one if we squeezed. What do you think?”

          Mickey turned slowly to him, a grin spreading across his face. “I think I’m warming up to you, is what I think,” he said.

          Ian laughed, flipping him off. “I’m your best friend, you dick, and don’t pretend I’m not. Come on though, we don’t have time to do it today, and we really do have to go meet up with Mandy and Karen.”

          He watched Mickey’s profile as he turned to cast a miserable glance back at the Shack, before he squared his shoulders and his expression blanked again. Ian jerked his head back towards the main village and set off that way, and Mickey fell into step with him without another word passed between them.

 

          The first thing Mandy did when she saw them was raise her eyebrows disparagingly and take a distained sip of her drink. Ian quirked her an apologetic smile as they slid into the booth she had commandeered, Mickey pressing up tight to his side to accommodate for the smallness of the booth. Mandy wrapped her hands, half covered by the sleeves she had pulled around her palms, around the half-full glass in front of her and leaned forwards on the table.

          “So,” she said, spearing them each with the same meaningful glance. “Whose date do we talk about first? Mine or yours?”

          “Shut up, Mandy,” Mickey snarled. “You’re such…”

          “A beautiful, irreplaceable honor to know?” she finished.

          “I was gonna say a raging snooping bitch,” he snapped. “Just because you just got laid in the alley behind the Hog’s Head—”

          “Just because _you_ were too busy with your head up your ass to _get_ a date—”

          “Go on,” Ian interrupted before they could really start sniping at each other. “How was your date, Mands?”

          She lit up instantly, apparently forgetting her squabble with her brother as she turned instead to Ian. When he glanced to the side, however, he saw Mickey’s eyebrows still drawn in malice, and elbowed him lightly in the side while Mandy started up a rapturous tale about her newest boy, and how he had failed to woo her with a mediocre date at a mediocre bar, but at least he got her off after.

          She talked and talked until Mickey relaxed beside him, and when Ian glanced over, he saw his eyes trained on the butterbeer he’d swiped from his sister a few minutes prior, his fingers tapping absently against the glass, and Ian knew that he had effectively tuned out. He couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth hitched up infinitesimally as he turned back to Mandy, who didn’t let up about the details of her date until the door opened behind them, wind gusting in through the pub, and Mandy cut off abruptly when her eyes snagged on something over Ian’s shoulder.

          “Hey, Karen!” she called. She stretched up in her seat to wave her arm around in the air, gesturing their friend over.

          Ian twisted around just as Karen caught sight of them. With a small smile, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and flounced over.

          “Wow,” said Mickey, causing Ian to look over at him and notice his raised eyebrows and the smirk threatening the edges of his mouth. “What’s got a spring in your step, Blondie? Just got eaten out in Pudifoot’s bathroom again?”

          Karen flipping him off did nothing to lessen the smile on her face, and Ian grinned himself at her eager energy.

          “Date went well?” Ian guesed. He reached for Mickey’s glass and, despite the incredulous look thrown his way at his audacity at demanding the butterbeer he’d stolen, Mickey did pass the bottle over reluctantly.

          “It was great,” Karen said, eyes lit up in excitement as she leaned closer to tell them about her day.

          Ian was caught up in her enthusiasm even if her storytelling was subpar, but she hadn’t even gotten halfway through when Mickey announced he was getting another round, demanded the necessary silver off his sister, and tapped Ian’s shoulder. He jerked his head towards the bar, and Ian threw Karen an apologetic look as he followed Mickey away from their table.

          Mickey threw himself into a barstool and sighed, “ _God_ , that was boring.”

          Ian chewed back a laugh and lowered himself into the seat beside him. “You’re such an asshole, Mickey,” he said anyway, elbowing him in the arm. “She’s having fun! What’s wrong with fun?”

          “It’s _boring_ ,” he said again. “I don’t even go on dates _myself_ , you think I want to hear about some schmuck with his hand up the girls’ robes? ‘Cause, you know, I don’t.”

          Ian grinned over at him, even when Mickey dropped the subject and turned to get their drinks. Only when Mickey looked back at him and demanded, “ _What_?” did Ian release his tongue.

          “You protective softie!” he accused, slapping Mickey on the arm in his excitement. “You’re totally big-brothering them!”

          Mickey looked as affronted as if Ian had personally accused him of murder. “I _what?_ ”

          “You just want them treated right,” Ian said in a teasing voice. “Aww, that’s so sweet, Mick.”

          “Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Mickey snapped. “They can get eaten by the giant squid for all I care.”

          “You _care_ about them,” Ian accused in a hush. “So adorable.”

          “One more word and I’ll knock your teeth in!”

          Ian snickered but relented, enjoying the rigidity of his posture and the tick in his clenched jaw silently now. When the bartender came over with their drinks, Mickey twisted the cap off of one and slid the other to Ian, but he didn’t make any move to rejoin the girls. Ian uncapped his own drink without protest at their prolonged stay by the bar, pausing to watch Mickey gulp down a few swallows before attending to his own. Ian gave Mickey a few swigs in silence before he broke in.

          “So, if you _did_ go on a date,” he started, blithe even in the face of Mickey’s warning glare, “what would you want it to be like?”

          “Gallagher,” he warned. The use of his surname joined with Mickey’s overall tense demeanor suggested that he would rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than continue this conversation, but Ian knew him too well to be afraid of his departure from this bar stool, let alone from this mortal plane.

          Ian nudged him with his elbow without letting go of his drink. “Come on, Mickey. Your ideal date. Go.”

          “I’m not doing this.”

          “I’ll go first,” Ian said. He clattered his elbows dramatically on the bar and balanced his chin on his hand, overdoing the air of being lost in thought. “Well, first he’d have to buy me flowers—”

          “You don’t want flowers,” Mickey cut in, sounding extremely exasperated.

          Ian ignored him. “—with the thorns cut off, _of course_. Mm, the more fragrant the better. Then he should hold my hand the whole way down the village—we’re assuming these are Hogsmeade dates, right? Oh, can we make them in spring? So we stop in for some coffee first—”

          “Ian, shut the fuck up,” Mickey sighed, but he sounded more resigned than irritated by now.

          Ian looked over at him without dropping the dreamy look he had affected, only to find that Mickey was turned towards him on his stool, one arm propped up on the counter and a death grip wrapped around his bottle. He had both eyebrows raised and was looking like he regretted every single decision that had led them to be here, as friends, sitting beside each other at The Three Broomsticks.

          “Look,” Mickey said, looking as grumpy as he ever had, “we all know how your ideal date would go. Cut the flowers crap—I’ll maybe gave you the hand holding the whole way there. You want him to buy you dinner, maybe some drinks, and then you wanna get felt up in the alleyway behind the Hog’s Head. Come on, don’t pretend your gooey romantic crap is anything _like_ Mandy’s.”

          Ian was grinning wide enough to hurt his cheeks. “You got one thing wrong.”

          “Oh I did, did I?”

          “Yeah.” Ian pressed his lips together, although it did nothing for the state of his cheeks. At Mickey’s steadily imperious gaze, Ian burst out, half-laughing, “I wanna get felt up behind _Puddifoot’s_. Come on, Mickey, where’s my romantic atmosphere? Give me something!”

          Mickey kicked him hard in the ankle beneath the counter and turned back to his drink. “You’re such an asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head.

          “Even assholes deserve to be treated _right_ ,” said Ian, nodding solemnly right before he broke out into full-out raucous laughter.

          Mickey elbowed him, and then again a little harder, until he was just nudging him repeatedly with his elbow—but by then he had also begun to chuckle quietly to himself, albeit while rolling his eyes and casting sideways glances that Ian barely caught even though he was looking right at him.

          “Come the fuck on,” Mickey said finally, when Ian was mostly just hiccupping into his butterbeer, “let’s go back to the table, Cinderella.”

          He made a move to get up, but Ian grabbed his arm before he could, suddenly sobered at the prospect of him leaving.

          “Wait!” he cried, forcing Mickey back into his seat. “You haven’t told me your perfect date yet! Go on, you know mine. It’s only fair.”

          “Yeah, but I _knew_ yours. I could set it up better than you could yourself.”

          Mickey was looking very self-satisfied, and although smugness was his usual aura, he still wore the look well. Ian chewed his lip for awhile, letting Mickey bask in his victory for a few quiet moments, until he suddenly clapped his hands together and then pointed at Mickey, and proclaimed,

          “Alright! Fair’s fair. I’ll do yours now.”

          “Excuse me?”

          “I’ll do yours,” he repeated, less hyper. “It’s _my_ turn to outline _your_ perfect date.”

          Mickey rubbed at his temple. “This is ridiculous—”

          “My turn,” Ian said firmly.

          He turned in his seat to better study Mickey, going so far as to squint as he looked him over. Mickey returned his stare flatly, but Ian was undeterred, watching him while he drank his beer and cast him annoyed looks until he decided where to start.

          “Okay,” he said finally. “Alright, okay. How about this: You pick him up—no, you meet him at the place. By the lake. No—Out between the quidditch pitch and the forest, where they always water extra well. Hmm…okay. You get high together and eat food he brought that you won’t call a picnic, even though it’s totally a picnic. And then,” he added, louder so he could preemptively cut off the interruption he could see Mickey gearing up to make, “then, when you’re all plied with smokes and wine he brought, you and him take a walk around the lake and _sometimes_ you even hold his hand.”

          Ian set his beer down triumphantly and turned a mega-watt smile on Mickey.

          “Am I right or am I right?” he pressed when Mickey didn’t immediately say anything.

          Mickey just remained impassive. “Just one question,” he drawled, “why does my mystery boyfriend seem to be _you_?”

          “What?”

          “Who else brings elf-made wine and a fucking picnic and wants to hold my goddamn hand?”

          “Hey, the elf-made part was all you. I was bringing five sickle knockoff.”

          Mickey tipped his head to really drive home his unimpressed expression.

          “Alright, alright,” Ian laughed, raising his hands complacently, “I’m negotiable on the hand-holding, and will maybe trade the wine for beer, _if_ your boyfriend is as grumpy as you and assuming that he, too, has a wickedly unrefined palate.”

          “Unrefined—what?! Ian, I watched you eat five treacle tarts last week and one of them was _off the floor_. And I have the unrefined palate?”

          “Mine’s more refined than yours!”

          “Jesus Christ— _off the floor_!”

          “Oh, I’ve seen you eat out of the actual trash, Mickey, don’t give me that.”

          “Dropping a _wrapped sandwich_ in my _personal_ bin is nothing like the floor in the Great Hall—”

          “It wasn’t wrapped! There’s still roast beef in your garbage!”

          Mickey scoffed. “Whatever. We really gonna argue about who’s more disgusting?”

          “No, I don’t think I have time for a lengthy stroll through every minute of your life,” Ian shot back.

          Mickey gritted his teeth noticeably, but he managed not to snap back. Instead, almost mechanically, he turned back to the bartender and said, “Two more rounds, please?” and resolutely refused to look at Ian until their drinks came, despite Ian retaliating by taking up a new sport of poking and prodding him relentlessly.

          Mickey grabbed their new drinks as soon as they had each drained their bottles and then got up, so Ian followed him back to the girls’ table. Mandy only shouted for a minute before she dragged Karen with her to go get their drinks that Mickey and Ian had forgone. Ian watched them head to the bar for a few beats before twisting back around to face Mickey.

          “So,” he said, leaning back and throwing his arm out over the back of Mickey’s seat, “what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

          “Jeez, I’ve had enough of your freckly ass,” Mickey sighed. Nevertheless, he soon after rolled his eyes in the face of Ian’s best sad puppy look and amended, “Drunk Gobstones with the usual crowd, maybe a drinking game with Exploding Snap cards. You in?”

          Ian beamed. “Always,” he promised, tipping back his second butterbeer. He only cut his attention away when Mickey caught his eye and gave him a tiny smile.

 

          They headed back to the castle a little over an hour later, once Karen had finished sharing her own story of her date (with an ungentlemanly asshole who at least had the good grace to put out and do it well) and they had all drained their drinks. Mandy linked her arms through Karen’s and Ian’s while they walked, swaying a little and dragging them with her every time she stumbled.

          “Woah, how much have you had?” asked Ian, after catching her from falling face-first into a snow drift.

          However, it was Karen who answered. She shrugged one shoulder and said, “Eh…two shots at the bar, two butterbeers, plus I think her date poured her some wine…so, you know. Enough. But not like…worryingly.”

          “So her usual amount,” cut in Mickey. “Perfect. She’ll be puking first thing tomorrow morning.”

          “She’s not that bad,” Karen said anxiously, ducking to look Mandy in her only-slightly ashen face.

          “I’m fine,” Mandy snapped, glaring at her.

          “No,” Mickey said, agreeing with Karen and ignoring Mandy completely, “but Mandy’s a serial puker. Hacks up every goddamn hangover she has.”   

          “Buzzkill,” said Ian, wrinkling his nose.

          “You’re both assholes,” said Karen. “Mickey, you’re a Puff. Take care of her.”

          “I’m a _what_?”

          Ian cast Karen a strange, bemused glance, but he was addressing Mickey when he clarified, “A Hufflepuff.”

          “Obviously,” said Karen, although she was either too busy bearing Mandy’s weight or simply too apathetic to look concerned with Mickey’s disbelieving look.

          Smothering a laugh for his own personal wellbeing, Ian glanced over at Mickey and nudged him with the elbow not supporting his stumbling sister.

          “What the fuck does me being a Hufflepuff have to do with helping this useless drunk mess?”

          “Hey!” Mandy protested.

          “Because you’re in her House,” said Karen, once again ignoring Mandy, with a hearty roll of her eyes and the _duh_ implied. “It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t, I don’t know…talk to prefects or the Head Girl, or die in her sleep or something.”

          “So the easy jobs,” he deadpanned, and Ian grinned.

          “At least it’s low-stress,” he jibed, giggling slightly when Mickey turned his glare on him instead.

          Even with no help from Mickey at all, Ian and Karen managed to help Mandy back up to the castle. Mandy was still sentient enough to look sober when they walked past the few professors roaming the entrance hall until they made it safely to the corridor that led down to the Hufflepuff common room, at which point she promptly slumped most of her weight against Ian again.

          “Alright, losers,” said Karen, releasing the hand Mandy had been squeezing for the last three hallways, “I gotta get to that Charms paper I’ve been putting off all week. Ian? Me, you, school brooms—ten a.m. tomorrow? Mandy, stay safe.”

          “I’ll meet you out there,” Ian promised, while beside him, Mandy grumbled and flipped her off.. “See you, Karen.”

          Mickey waved at her in his usual grumpy manner, barely gesturing before shoving both hands deep in his robe’s pockets.

          “Karen, wait!”

          Mandy pulled free of Ian and Mickey and went over to where Karen had successfully backed halfway down the corridor, and Ian watched her go for a second before turning back to Mickey, who was leaning his shoulder against the opposite wall and shaking his head after his sister.

          “Sorry to stick you with the babysitting shtick,” said Ian, and Mickey’s attention turned to him instead. “I’ll stay up with you until she falls asleep, if you want.”

          “I can handle my sister,” Mickey insisted, rolling his eyes.

          “I know,” he agreed. “Jeez, Mick, she’s my friend too. It’s not for your benefit.”

          He met Mickey’s shrewd gaze with a challenging look of his own, and after a minute Mickey backed down, sighing and turning back towards where Mandy and Karen were still huddled a little ways down the hallway, talking about something in voices too quiet to overhear.

          “Whatever,” Mickey said absently.

          Ian smirked victoriously, and he too leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for Mandy to come back over.

          A minute later, she and Karen waved goodbye to each other, and Mandy ambled back over to them.

          “I don’t need babysitters,” she said, brushing past them. She made her way into the Hufflepuff common room ahead of them, still teetering slightly and leaving them to follow after her, exchanging glances.

          “Whatever you say,” said Mickey, catching up to her halfway to the girls’ stairwell. His hand hovered near her elbow without making contact. “Come on, it’s nap time, lightweight.”

          Mandy snorted. “ _Lightweight_ ,” she scoffed. “I can drink you under the table, old man.”

          “Yeah, yeah. Another time, princess.”

          Ian stood back a little, watching Mickey make sure his sister successfully made it to the girls’ staircase, and, lacking the ability to follow her up, they both watched her head up out of sight. Once she was gone, Mickey turned back around and threw himself into one of the armchairs. Ian sat down in the one facing him, and when he propped his feet up on Mickey’s armrest, Mickey didn’t brush him off.

          “Ridiculous,” he muttered instead. “How long we gotta sit here until we’re sure she’s out cold?”

          Ian shrugged. Mickey didn’t go on, so Ian looked down instead, fingers playing with a loose thread on his armrest.

          “Candy?” Ian said after a long stretch of quiet, and Mickey looked up at him.

          Ian pulled their Honeydukes bag from his pocket and set it on his knees, legs still stretched out between them. Mickey grinned and grabbed the bag, coming up with a handful of sweets before throwing it back to Ian. Ian grinned around the licorice wand he was pulling between his teeth.

          “So, all in all,” Ian said, voice distorted by the candy he was still chewing, “if you had to rate the date from zero to ten—what would you give it?”

          As always, Mickey’s eyebrows expressed most of his confusion. “Date?” he said blankly.

          Ian kicked him lightly in the thigh.

          “Yeah, _date_ ,” he said, spreading his hands as though to encompass their day. “Remember? We were each other’s dates to Hogsmeade so I wouldn’t go around making a spectacle of myself?”

          “You’re always a spectacle,” Mickey muttered. “And this wasn’t a date, Ian—it was a hang out. I was _kidding_.”

          “A hang out,” Ian said flatly. “Who bought you this candy?”

          “We pooled our money and took the beers off the girls!” Mickey protested.

          Ian just laughed. “Whatever, Mickey. This was a date and you know it.”

          Mickey flicked a Bertie Botts bean at him, and it hit him square in the forehead. Ian kicked him in retaliation, and by the time they were done fighting—candy scattered on the floor and stuck in between the cushions in their chairs, Ian’s ankles smarting where Mickey had repeatedly smacked him—they had settled onto discussing recent quidditch scores, and Ian nearly forgot about teasing him.

          Still, when about half an hour later Mickey stood up, Ian followed suit, crumpling up the empty candy bag to throw out later. Mickey cast a glance at the girls’ staircase, still vacant as it had been the entire time they had been sitting there.

          “She’s probably out,” he said. “So, uh…I’m gonna head up to bed too. Got a little homework I have to do before I meet up with my study group tomorrow. You staying?”

          Ian looked away, towards the exit as though he could see all the way to the Slytherin dorms where his backpack sat, heavy with OWL work and accusing him of procrastination even from here. Finally Ian turned back to Mickey, scratching at the back of his neck.

          “Nah,” he said finally. Regretfully. “I’ve got some stuff to get done too. Karen wants to spend all tomorrow letting off some steam, so…gotta get this done before Monday.”

          He shrugged. Mickey cast him a sympathetic look.

          “Okay, well…dinner tomorrow? Five?”

          Ian nodded, and before Mickey could turn away, he lunged forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. Before Mickey could do anything more than make a startled noise, Ian turned to whisper directly into his ear:

          “Thanks for the date.”

          Somewhere between Mickey shoving him away and shouting for him to go fuck himself, Ian turned and sprinted away, laughing out into the corridor and all the way down to his common room.

          He had had fun, though, truly—date or no date. And anyway, teasing Mickey was fun, because it was all so ridiculous; the day Mickey Milkovich went out on a date…well, that was a day that Ian would pay to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/) :)) forgive me for being late & sporadic, lmao
> 
> xoxo


	4. sixteen candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a reward for turning sixteen,” said Mickey, slinging an arm over Ian’s shoulders as they headed down towards the common room. “It’s weird, you’d think I’d get the yearly reward just for putting up with you.”  
> “You do,” said Ian, snaking his arm around Mickey’s torso and squeezing him closer, making them stumble a little on the stairs, “it’s a year-round reward. You get to be friends with me.”

          Ian couldn’t count on a lot of things in life—middle child, easy to forget, and sorted into a House with deep historic prejudice didn’t always set him up for success—but he could always count on his siblings being an excited, enthusiastic mess come November.

          “This came for you,” Karen greeted him when he sat down beside her at the breakfast table two weeks into the month. She handed him a box sitting on her other side, and although the curiosity he had had when a very similar box had arrived for him his first two years at Hogwarts, by now he was all too familiar with it, although his excitement had not yet been dampened.

          Karen didn’t hover while Ian tore into his package, but she did hold her hand out without looking up once he managed to get it open. Rolling his eyes, Ian slapped a chocolate frog into her hand before going back to rummaging around, searching for the card he knew must be buried somewhere inside.

          He unearthed it after a few moments’ search. Fiona had gone all out drawing on the card this year, and Ian could identify some of Liam’s doodles and macaroni art dotting the front page too. Smiling to himself at the thought of home, he opened it to read the short early birthday message Fiona had written inside, unsure as she was exactly when the package would get to him. Beneath her little paragraph, she had signed her name in big, neat scrawl; Liam’s handwriting, and his name, was directly beneath hers, even bigger but infinitely messier.

          “What’s up with the sappy smile?” Karen asked, not even looking at him while she chewed on her frog. “Fiona didn’t write you a poem or something, did she?”

          Ian, who had clambered onto his knees on the bench to dig into the box—which, aside from the card, was filled with sweets—from a higher angle, rolled his eyes.

          “No. She just said happy birthday and, you know, some advice now that I’m sixteen, blah—the usual routine.”

          “Your mom’s so sweet,” Karen said, giving him a mocking smile.

          Ian imitated the face back at her and turned back to his pile of candy, wondering what to unwrap first. He was saved the trouble by Mickey plopping into the seat directly across from him and plunging his entire hand into the box. He came out with a fistful of candy, and once the excess sweets had fallen from his grip back into the box, he shoved the handful at Ian and dropped half his spoils into his outstretched hand, then dropped the rest out onto the table in front of him.

          “What’s the occasion?” Mickey asked, shoving an entire mini cauldron cake into his mouth. “Ew, these don’t travel.”

          “Yeah, complain about your free candy,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “And the occasion’s my birthday, you dick. Don’t you dare on your life forget.”

          “ _Obviously_ ,” said Mickey, now reaching for a box of Bertie Bott’s. “That’s not until next week.”

          “Yeah, Fiona’s not so much with the timing.”

          Karen insisted on at least getting some real food in her, but Ian and Mickey dug viciously into the candy box for their breakfast, ignoring her snide remarks about upset stomachs later and smirking when she plucked out a few more chocolate frogs and stuffed them into her robes to eat during her first class.

          “So, Mickey,” she said a little while later, waving around the lollipop was she now sucking on, “what are you getting Ian for his birthday?”

          Ian turned his attention to Mickey eagerly. Mickey glanced sideways at him, then smirked at Karen.

          “ _Getting_?” he repeated smugly. “Oh no, I’ve already got mine. You’re not slithering into putting your name on it.”

          “I’m not trying to,” she snapped. “Just wanna make sure it’s not as good as mine. I have to one-up you, you see.”

          “Shame you have to fail, then. Mine’s so good Ian’s gonna forget who the fuck you even are.”

          “I’m literally right here,” Ian cut in. Then he bounced a little in his seat and added, “So, what’d you get me?”

          “Yeah right,” they both scoffed.

          “ _Guys!_ ”

          “No way,” said Mickey, at the same time that Karen assured him, “Trust me, your mind will be blown.”

          “I don’t want my mind to be blown,” Ian complained. “I want to know _now_.”

          “Cool it with the temper tantrum,” said Mickey. “Christ, can’t you wait a week?”

          “Eight days,” Ian corrected petulantly. “And no, I can’t.”

          “Well you’d better learn,” said Karen. “I gotta go to class. Ian, if Mickey breaks, tell me what he got you, would you?”

          Ian flipped her a thumbs up while Mickey flipped her quite a different digit, and Karen waggled her fingers cheekily before whirling around and striding out of the Great Hall.

          “So anyway,” Ian said once she was gone, folding his hands on the table. “About that gift—”

          “No,” Mickey said firmly. “We’re still on for tutoring later, right?”

          Ian sighed. “ _Fine_. Yes, we are. You know I could just curse this out of you, right?”

          “Then I’d have to kill you,” said a sickly sweet voice from behind him. When they turned around, Mandy broke character to laugh, and she flung herself into the seat beside Ian. “Just kidding. Why are we hexing my brother? I’m in.”

          “Thanks for the backup, sis,” said Mickey, face pinched sourly towards her.

          “He won’t tell me what he got me for my birthday,” said Ian, ignoring Mickey entirely to throw his best tragic expression at Mandy instead. “He won’t tell _me_! Me!”

          “Aw, you poor baby,” Mandy mocked, but Ian wasn’t sure who her antagonism was directed towards, because then she pinched Ian’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned Ian’s sad face in Mickey’s direction. “Honestly, how could you say no to this sweet child?”

          “I’m sorry, who are we talking about here?” asked Mickey. “Because all I see in front of me is my bitch sister and Ian, who would burst into flames on hallowed ground. So...”

          He trailed off, spreading his hands in exaggerated confusion.

          Mandy started laughing, and Ian swatted at the both of them even while a small, reluctant chuckle escaped him as well.

          “Betrayed,” he muttered, and then louder, “Betrayal! From the both of you!”

          “Aww, the baby’s getting dramatic,” Mandy cooed, while Mickey snickered from his other side.

          “You know what? I have plenty of friends. I don’t need to be harassed like this.”

          “Oh, sure you do,” said Mandy, waving a hand dismissively.

          “Who else would deflate your monster head and eat all your candy?” Mickey pointed out.

          Mandy let out a small noise of delight upon noticing the box in front of them then, and Ian promptly lost the both of them as they dug into the candy and fought pettily over who got the last chocolate frog and which of them should eat the lollipop to see if it was an acid pop or not. Occasionally Mandy, who had broken into a box of Bertie Botts, handed Ian his favorite flavors, but otherwise the siblings seemed more determined to fight over who got what to pay him much attention.

          “So I was thinking,” Ian said a little while later, when Mickey and Mandy had each hoarded their own piles of candy and they had relaxed somewhat away from their fight, “I wanna do something special for this birthday.”

          “Why?” asked Mickey, thoroughly engaged in throwing mini caramel-filled chocolates up in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth; he had broken them in half for an easier time of it. “This isn’t even the big one, you don’t turn seventeen until next year.”

          “Shut up, asshole,” Mandy snapped, but she looked much sweeter when she turned to Ian and said earnestly, “that sounds great, Ian. What’d you have in mind?”

          “Well, Lip always throws a party—”

          Mickey started to mutter, “When doesn’t he look for an excuse to—” but Ian cut him off before he could get going.

          “—and I was _thinking_ ,” he said a little louder than necessary, “you guys should bring some friends, you know. _Friends_ …”

          “Why are you saying it like that?” Mickey asked thickly around his chocolate.

          Ian rolled his eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table and sighed heavily.           “Your friends, Mickey, your…you know!”

          “I really don’t.”

          Mandy had a pinched, thoughtful expression going on when she asked, as though trying to parse just what he meant, “Do you mean, like, friends who are also more than friends or friends who are well stocked on… _extracurricular_ _activities_?”

          Ian threw his arms out, gesturing wildly towards her. “Thank you! Yes, those friends.”

          “Jesus Christ,” Mickey sighed. “You mean—drugs? You want drugs?”

          “Yes, okay, fine. I’d like some drugs on my birthday. Happy?”

          “Couldn’t be more thrilled,” Mickey muttered.

          “How is it,” asked Mandy, sounding mockingly thoughtful, complete with a head tilt and her fingers tapping her chin, “that after all these years around the two of us, you’re _still_ completely incapable of playing anything cool?”

          “Be nice to me,” Ian said, reluctantly chuckling, “it’s almost my birthday.”

          “Ah, yet I couldn’t find any chill to give you. Sorry, you’ll have to settle for what I _could_ buy.”

          Ian turned away from Mandy to pout at Mickey instead.

          “Mickey,” he whined. “Your sister’s being mean to me.”

          Mickey barely glanced at him at first, but then he did a double-take and sat up straight, looking around a little in confusion before turning to Mandy instead. “Oh, sorry—Mandy, did you need any help with that?”

          “I’ve got it,” she assured him, laughing when Ian crossed his arms and settled huffily in his seat, not turned towards either of them.

          “Worst friends ever,” he muttered.

          “You’ll be changing your tune when you see what I got you,” Mandy said confidently.

          “We already went over this,” said Mickey. “I’m literally going to be your favorite person in the world.”

          “Fine. But I still want the drugs, and now I want them free.”

          “Ah, so you’re a greedy birthday boy, are you?”

          Ian made a noise of firm assent, and Mickey rolled his eyes and picked up a fork, finally turning from his candy stockpile towards a real breakfast instead.

          Mandy threw an arm around Ian’s shoulder and squeezed him close to her side.

          “If you forgive me,” she said, “I’ll make sure it’s your best birthday yet.”

          “That should be your aspiration every year,” he deadpanned, and yelped when she pinched his arm hard.

 

          Ian had a strict policy about birthdays, which was that if anyone tried to enforce any strict policies on him, he had full license to kick their ass. That extended, in his opinion, to being woken up at any time before noon.

          Mickey, unfortunately, didn’t seem to share that sentiment.

          “Get up,” Mickey shouted, right before his four-poster’s curtains were ripped open and light flooded violently in. “Up, shithead, it’s already past eleven.”

          Ian responded only by squeezing his pillow around his ears and rolling over onto his face.

          “Yo, sleepyface,” Mickey called.

          A second later Ian felt his bed dip, and the mattress jiggled and shifted until Mickey plopped hard down beside him, making the entire bed quake. Being only a twin, there wasn’t much space, and he could feel Mickey’s body heat even through his bedsheets as Mickey shuffled up to his turned back and started jabbing him over and over in the cheek.  
          “Get _up_ ,” he said again, impatiently. “Part one of the birthday spiel starts in twenty minutes.”

          Ian adopted a lofty tone when he sighed, “Ah, and you make it sound so heartfelt,” only to get slapped on the shoulder for his troubles. At least he stopped poking his cheek.

          “I’m not playing!” Mickey insisted.

          “Agh!”

          With that, Ian promptly turned over, dragging his blankets back over his face as he went.

          Mickey, of course, never gave up so easily, and he began digging his knee into Ian’s back, possibly to catch him off guard when he ripped his pillow out from under his head and started beating him mercilessly with it, all the while shouting, “Get! Up! Get! Up! Get! Up!”

          Finally, Ian lashed out and tore the pillow back from him, but Mickey only rolled over on top of him and dug his knees into his sides instead, keeping him from flipping over while he pinned his wrists down on the bed. For a second, they just stared at each other, Mickey awake and determined, Ian glaring sleepily from beneath half-closed lids.

          “Morning,” he grunted finally.

          Mickey grinned. “Good morning,” he returned cheekily.

          When Mickey acquiesced to letting him go—after Ian promised three times that he would actually get out of bed—he laid back on Ian’s pillows, eating chocolates out of the box from Fiona that by now was just about empty and watching Ian while he fumbled around getting dressed. He was still there when Ian returned from the bathroom, albeit with a few more wrappers littering his lap than there had been when Ian had left him.

          Ian crossed his arms and considered him. “So your week-long stomachache is still a mystery, huh?”

          Mickey flipped him off and rolled out of his bed, sweeping the wrappers into the bin and straightening up fully. When he didn’t do anything else or make a move to leave, Ian looked at him expectantly.

          “Part one?” he prompted. “I thought there was a reward for me getting out of bed.”

          “No, there’s a reward for turning sixteen,” said Mickey, slinging an arm over Ian’s shoulders as they headed down towards the common room. “It’s weird, you’d think I’d get the yearly reward just for putting up with you.”

          “You do,” said Ian, snaking his arm around Mickey’s torso and squeezing him closer, making them stumble a little on the stairs, “it’s a year-round reward. You get to be friends with me.”

          “Yeah, I’m nauseous with joy,” Mickey assured him tonelessly.

          They released each other when they got down to the common room, Mickey for once possessing a little more spring in his step than Ian, who ambled behind him while they crossed the common room and headed out into the corridor.

          “Can I at least get my present now if you’re gonna drag me out of bed this early?” asked Ian through a yawn, scratching tiredly at a spot on his face.

          “How about some appreciation?” said Mickey, spinning around to walk backwards so that he could face Ian and really pin him with the full effect of his affront. “A ‘thank you,’ something? For putting so much effort into your ungrateful ass?”

          “Mickey, trust me on this one—you don’t want to get into who’s less likely to say thank you around here. I’ve got Mandy on my side. She never forgets _anything_.”

          “Sure she does,” Mickey grumbled, turning back around to walk straight. “Just not the stuff that makes me look bad.”

          Ian laughed and caught up to him, slinging an arm around his neck. “Aw, well Mickey, you don’t want her to forget about you completely!”

          Mickey twisted away from him, and he flipped him off as he quickened his pace down the hallway. Unfortunately for him, however, Ian’s ensuing laugh was loud enough to echo down the corridor towards him, and he lengthened his stride. He caught with up him again at the top of the stairs leading into the entrance hall, and followed him in for a quick breakfast before Mickey was dragging him back out at the girls’ insistence (no doubt a request handed down from Lip) that Mickey keep him occupied for the remainder of the day.

          “I don’t know if I’m more excited for tonight, or to watch you stall trying to keep me entertained all day,” Ian confessed as Mickey dragged him off to the Hufflepuff common room.

          “You’re gonna be difficult about this, aren’t you?”

          Ian grinned widely for a second before he followed him inside. “Of course.”

          “Of course,” Mickey repeated sourly.

          He kicked a couple of younger kids away from the couch beside the fireplace and threw himself down, sprawling out with his legs spread and his arms spanning most of the back. Undeterred by Mickey’s attempt to take up the whole couch for himself, Ian squeezed in next to him anyway, forcing Mickey to shuffle over an inch to accommodate him, but still not enough that Ian had his fair share of room.

          “You’re an ass,” he commented, snuggling up to Mickey’s side anyway.

          “Okay, can we at least not cuddle?” Mickey snapped desperately.

          “No,” said Ian, so simply and yet so obviously infuriating if the way Mickey’s clenched jaw twitched and his face tinged a slightly darker shade of pink was any indication. Ian smiled up at him where his head was laying on his shoulder. “If we stop cuddling, I’ll get bored. Then I’ll have to go all the way back down to the Slytherin dungeons…”

          “Alright, alright,” Mickey said, still sounding irritated. “Just—don’t be weird, okay?”

          “Nothing weird about cuddling, Mick.”

          Mickey’s disagreement was pitched low and quiet enough for Ian to ignore, so he did exactly that. More than just ignoring him, actually, Ian grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down further, tugging it off the couch and around Ian’s shoulders instead while he burrowed closer to Mickey. Already, the hour or two of sleep of which Mickey had robbed him were enticing him further and further from consciousness the longer he laid there, curled against Mickey’s side. Before he could fully succumb to a nap, however, Mickey used the hand not caught in Ian’s grip to tug harshly at his hair.

          “No sleeping,” Mickey reprimanded him. “We went over this. Big birthday things to come.”

          “My party’s not until tonight,” Ian complained, hiding his face in Mickey’s robes in a misguided attempt to block him out completely.

          “Yeah, well after the over-the-top extravaganza shit you pulled for me last year, I gotta even the score a little bit. Come on, we’re going out to lunch soon, don’t pass out on me now.”

          That had Ian perking up a little, and he sat up. As he did so, Mickey’s arm slipped off his shoulders and fell back to his lap, and Ian shifted around to face him.

          “ _Out_ to lunch?” he repeated hopefully. “How’d you swing that?”

          “God, you’re not so good with the ‘surprise’ half of ‘birthday surprises’, are you?”

          “No,” Ian lamented. “I’m really much better with getting my way.”

          Mickey’s following hum sounded more sarcastic than truly agreeable, but Ian decided to take it when Mickey lifted his arm back up in silent invitation to let Ian cuddle up to him again. Resisting the urge to gloat—that would surely precede a rescinding of his offer—Ian shifted back against him and took the compromise, letting Mickey’s body heat lull him halfway to a power nap without actually falling asleep. Even he had wanted to, Mickey shook him every couple of minutes, unsatisfied until Ian mumbled out, “I’m just resting my eyes,” and even still, that excuse was met by a disbelieving scoff every time.

          He was still somewhere between waking and sleeping when Mickey jostled him fully awake fifteen minutes later, insisting that he was bored and required entertainment as payment for all he was doing today. Thus Ian was roped into a game of Exploding Snap, which turned into two games, which turned into six. Mickey was winning five to one when Ian started complaining that he was the birthday boy and demanded Mickey let him win a couple of times.

          “You really have this fundamental misunderstanding of what kind of person I am,” Mickey observed, staring Ian dead in the eye as he cemented his sixth win.

          Ian made a face at him. “You’re mean,” he returned, doing his best to sound pitiful.

          Mickey shrugged and went back to organizing another game.

          After over an hour, Ian had managed to win twice more and decided to quit entirely, despite Mickey insisting that stopping after he had won two in a row, when Mickey had seven wins on him, did not technically count as “quitting while ahead.” Undeterred, Ian laid down on the floor in front of the fireplace and started practicing Vanishing Spells, much to Mickey chagrin as he kept trying to deal and Ian kept disappearing the cards.

          “Would you quit that?” Mickey snapped eventually.

          Ian raised an indolent eyebrow at him. Without saying anything, he twirled his wand around, and the card that had been set between Mickey’s fingers vanished without a trace. After another few times of this, Mickey went strangely blank, blinking straight ahead. After a second he stepped over Ian’s prone form and laid down next to him.

          Ian started to laugh. “Did I break you?” he wondered, rolling his head to the side to look at him.

          Mickey gave him that same impassive stare. “I hate you,” he said in a mildly strangled tone.

          Ian bit his lip, and when his laughter came again, it was loud and disruptive and untamable. Beside him, Mickey seemed immovable, and Ian sincerely worried that he had finally destroyed him when he continued laughing and Mickey just stared at the ceiling, his hands folded over his stomach and his face quite blank.

          “I’m sorry,” Ian hiccupped awhile later, fully prepared to maintain himself. “Oh, god. I’m sorry Mickey. Please don’t be broken.”

          He poked experimentally at his throat.

          “Mick?”

          Finally, Mickey heaved a huge sigh and turned his head to look at him. He still sounded defeated when he said, “Yes?”

          Ian pressed his lips together, throat working dangerously around more laughter.

          “I’m sorry,” he said again, trying his damnedest to remain sincere. “Don’t be a lifeless robot now.”

          Mickey continued to just look at him.

          “I didn’t mean to break you,” Ian went on earnestly. “Please can we go get lunch now and celebrate my birthday so I can remind you how grateful I am that you’re the best friend in the whole world?”

          For awhile, Mickey continued to just look at him, while the lines in Ian’s forehead pinched together more and more anxiously and his teeth nearly worried a hole in his bottom lip. Finally Mickey huffed a weighted breath.

          “Best friend in the whole world, huh?” he said skeptically.

          Ian nodded. “Best friend that anyone’s ever had,” he assured him.

          Again, Mickey was quiet. Ian’s hopes were rising at the increasingly benevolent look of forgiveness blooming across his face when Mickey suddenly rolled over and hefted himself to his feet. Ian propped himself up on his elbows to stare at him, ready for his next move, so he was somewhat taken aback when Mickey extended a hand to him. Still, he quickly got with the program and grasped his hand so that Mickey could pull him upright beside him.

          “Lunch?” he asked hopefully.

          Mickey sighed. “Lunch,” he confirmed, resigned.

          Mickey regained some of his liveliness as he led Ian up to the fifth floor. He stopped a quarter of the way down, next to nothing but a cracked old statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Ian hunched a little closer to the statue while Mickey double-checked both ends of the corridors, apparently looking for passerby.

          “Would you stop that?” Mickey said when he turned back to Ian and saw him peering over the top of Gregory’s head. “Jesus, you think no one can see you or something? Get away.”

          He slapped at Ian’s arm until he ducked away to defend himself, and Ian retreated to the opposite wall to skulk in silence while Mickey messed around with the statue. Ian was still keeping lookout when Mickey suddenly whispered, “Hey birthday boy, come on,” and Ian turned to find that the statue had been pushed out of the way, revealing a dark passageway behind it.

          “I feel like I’m entering serial killer territory,” Ian confided as Mickey squeezed his way into the passage next to Ian and tapped his wand against the side of Gregory’s statue, muttering a spell. A second later the statue slid right back into place, sealing them in.

          “Would you relax?” said Mickey, now lighting his wandtip and taking the lead down the passage. “No one knows this is here, stop having a fit.”

          “Fine, but when we get killed by some sketchy asshole waiting in the dark I’m writing _no thanks to Mickey_ across my headstone.”

          “I’ll be honored,” he snarked back.

          Ian made a face at the back of his head, and, not entirely to his surprise, Mickey threw up a middle finger at him a second later.

          “Stop being psychic.”

          “Stop being predictable.”

          They fell silent again. Something about the oppressive darkness, barely aided by Mickey’s wandlight, made Ian too uncomfortable to talk, as though there were any room for anyone to be hiding down here and like he might somehow escape notice if only he was quiet. Mickey didn’t exactly push for conversation, so they didn’t speak again until Mickey tapped a stone wall that appeared in front of them when they turned a corner, murmured the same spell he had used to open and shut Gregory, and they spilled out onto the sunlit street.

          “See?” said Mickey, sealing the passage shut again and opening his arms out. “No dying, no sudden serial killers. Not even a detention. Come on, it’s a walk down to Hogsmeade; we came out of the wrong side of the castle.”

          They set off down the empty road, which was more of a path than a real road and wouldn’t be very safe to navigate by anything but on foot. Still, they didn’t encounter anyone, and Ian was winded but unscathed when they hopped a fence and found themselves in the middle of Hogsmeade, in a garden behind one of the inns.

          Ian was winded, which meant that Mickey was entirely ready to never exert himself ever again.

          “God, give me a sec.”

          Grateful for the chance to rest his legs a minute, Ian followed Mickey over to the back wall of the inn and sat down with him between two flutterby bushes. Room was tight, and their shoulders pressed together in the tiny space. A gnome popped up from beneath a nearby wiggenbush and scampered across the garden, before plopping down beneath a tree’s canopy and plunging its hand into the dirt, presumably for worms.

          “So,” said Ian, tearing his gaze back to Mickey. From this close, he could see a trickle of sweat disappear into the hair near his temple before Mickey turned to give him his full attention.

          “So?” he repeated.

          “So,” said Ian. “Where’s lunch? Most of the shopowners will tell McGonagall if they see us out of school…”

          “Don’t worry, I know a place,” Mickey assured him.

          Ian nodded to himself before turning back to the gnome, now elbow-deep in the dirt.

          “Any presents for lunch?” he asked absently.

          “Lunch _is_ your lunch present. I’m buyin’.”

          “Sweet,” said Ian, but when he turned to Mickey again he was anything but satisfied, tipping his head to the side endearingly.

          Mickey leveled him with an unimpressed stare, which he managed to keep up for almost an entire minute before he said, “Ugh, fine! I’ll buy you a drink too if you shut up.”

          “Something special,” said Ian, settling his back more comfortably against the wall, his eyes straying back to the gnome. “Something the bartender has to roll his eyes at before he makes it.”

          In his peripherals, he could see Mickey shaking his head.

          “You’re impossible,” he said.

          Ian, however, could hear the hint of affection that Mickey almost never let shine through. He smiled.

          “What?” Mickey asked, more aggressively than Ian considered necessary.

          “Nothing,” he answered with a shrug. “Just…glad that gnome got the worm.” When he looked back at Mickey, he saw that he was looking at him strangely. To cover for his awful cover, Ian clapped a hand on Mickey’s leg and said, “So, food now?”

          Right on cue, his stomach grumbled noticeably. Mickey made very similar sounds of dissatisfaction when Ian helped pull him to his feet, and he rubbed at a spot on his lower back while they made their way out of the garden, jumping another fence and heading down a short alley before they were back on open road.

          “Humans weren’t made for hiking,” Mickey informed him as they meandered down the street. “Well. Wizards weren’t. That’s why brooms and shit were invented.”

          Ian clucked his tongue. “Come on, old man. I’m sure we can get you a senior special at lunch if you’re grumpy enough.”

          “Bet you’re used to asking for those,” Mickey muttered.

          Ian turned to him, mouth dropping open. “Excuse me!”

          “Oh, don’t act so scandalized. You’ve had too many crushes on crotchety old losers to even give me that look—”

          “One guy!” Ian protested, looking around in askance for help that didn’t come. “I had a crush on one guy over fifty!”

          Mickey scoffed. “Yeah, but it was _Lockhart_ ,” he sneered. “Jesus, at least get some taste, will you?”

          Ian crossed his arms defensively. “Coming from the guy who spent three years hung up on the drummer of Herbicide. Christ, could you pick a grungier man? Is there one? On the entire face of the planet?”

          “Shut up. At least he had character.”

          “It takes a lot of character to connive your way to the top, thank you very much!”

          “Please don’t tell me that’s all you wanna do.” Mickey shook his head. “You’re trying to be Head of the Aurors through _conniving_?”

          Ian shrugged. “Politics, baby.”

          “You repulse me.”

          “Ah, so it wasn’t you who’s been crawling into my bed twice a week. Interesting.”

          Mickey flung his arm out to smack at him, catching him in the arm. “Don’t make it sound dirty, you perv. Ain’t my fault you can never wake up for class.”

          “Just admit it! You want to wake up to me, don’t you?” Ian clutched tightly at his heart. “That’s so sweet.”

          “You know what,” said Mickey, pulling to a stop in the middle of the road so that a middle-aged witch, two kids on her arm, had to swerve suddenly around him; she threw a glare over her shoulder as they strode away. Mickey paid her no mind as he finished his threat: “Forget lunch. Find someone who actually likes you to take you out.”

          Ian pouted at him. Mickey raised his eyebrows threateningly. Finally, Ian uncrossed his arms with a dramatic sigh.

          “ _Fine_ ,” he muttered under his breath. “Asshole.”

          Mickey smirked and spun around to keep walking, ignoring Ian’s petulance completely. By the time they stopped at the end of the street, Ian was ready to forgive him, if only because Mickey held the door open for him as they stepped into Marnie’s Diner.

          “I’ve never been in here,” Ian said as they found a small table near the window. “It always looked cute, I was curious.”

          “It’s good,” Mickey assured him, opening up a menu. “Check it out, they even have dragon meat and stuff. And milkshakes to dip your fries in.”

          Ian opened his menu too and started to scan. “You’ve been here before?” he checked absently, gaze fixed on the list in front of him.

          “Yep.”

          Ian nodded thoughtfully, then suddenly snapped his menu shut and pushed it across the table. Mickey looked over the top of his own, raising his eyebrows.

          “Okay,” said Ian. “Order for me.”

          “What?”

          “Order for me,” he repeated, pushing his menu closer to where Mickey sat unmoving across from him. “Go on, I trust you.”

          “Ian, I’m not doing this,” Mickey sighed. He pushed the menu back towards him. “You get tetchy if you don’t like your food and I’m not sending it back a hundred times because I didn’t get your order right. Just pick something.”

          “No,” he said stubbornly, now crossing his arms to stop Mickey from forcing the menu back on him. “You know what’s good here. Just pick something you know I’d like.”

          Mickey groaned, loudly, and put his menu down as well. His fingers, now free, rubbed vigorously at his temples. “Why do you have to make everything so goddamn difficult?” he demanded.

          Ian’s seat tipped as he leaned back, the front feet lifting off the floor. He cast Mickey a wily smile. “Because it’s fun,” he said simply. “You get so fucking frustrated, jeez.”

          Mickey stared at him for a solid few seconds before he scoffed, and shoved the menu so hard that it slid across the table and nearly flew off. Ian’s chair clattered back to all fours as he slapped his hand down to keep it from sliding away.

          “Pick something before I order you something vegan,” Mickey snarled.

          Ian cast him a scandalized, disbelieving look, but otherwise resumed finding something to eat without harassing Mickey any further.

          He ended up getting those fries and a milkshake, although he somewhat regretted his meager choice when Mickey added a roast chicken sandwich to his order. Still, Mickey didn’t glare too heavily at him when Ian stole the bits of chicken that fell out onto his plate, and he even let him have a sip of his strawberry milkshake in exchange for a taste of Ian’s dulche de leche.

          “We’re practically dating,” Ian commented as they slid their milkshakes back across the table so that they skidded into place at the same time. He swung his feet beneath the table, making sure to catch Mickey’s shins between his and batting his eyes dramatically. “Sharing milkshakes and everything.”

          “Such an asshole,” Mickey muttered in return.

          Ian didn’t even pretend to put up a fight when Mickey paid for their lunches and they left, heading back towards the secret passageway to school. Ian looped his arm through Mickey’s as they wound their way back down the street, and he leaned heavily into his side.

          “I ate too many fries,” Ian complained, nudging even more of his weight onto Mickey. “Not enough real food.”

          “I didn’t tell you not to get a sandwich,” Mickey said matter-of-factly, entirely unsympathetic to Ian’s plight.

          “I’m gonna be sick tonight.”

          “Drink the pain away.”

          Ian snorted. “You’re such a good role model,” he said, hopping the fence back into the garden and out the other side. He slowed so that Mickey could catch up with his longer strides, and they started the long trek back up towards the castle together.

          By the time they made it back to Mickey’s dorm, they were both sweating profusely and Ian collapsed face-down on his bed while Mickey went to claim the first shower. When he returned from his own shower thirty minutes later, he found Mickey sprawled out over the entirety of his bed, thumbing through one of the textbooks Ian had left there the previous week.

          “See, this is why I could never be something as intense as an Auror,” Mickey said without looking up.

          “Oh?” Ian asked, only half-listening. He bent down to rummage through Mickey’s trunk for clean robes, towel slipping down his hips when he squatted.

          “Yeah. Too much work.”

          Mickey sniffed disdainfully, a sound followed by the violent squeaking of bedsprings as he flipped over onto his back and shoved the textbook onto the floor with a loud thud. Ian made a mental note to find a greasing spell for his bed later and pulled out his change of clothes, finding a set of robes he must have left there at some point earlier. He barely turned away from Mickey as he dropped the towel and got dressed. When he turned back around, Mickey was laying with his arms behind his head, watching him silently.

          “Enjoying the view?” Ian asked.

          Mickey rolled his eyes, and Ian grinned as he squeezed onto the bed beside him. With Mickey on his back and Ian flat on his stomach, there wasn’t a lot of room for them, and their sides were pressed against each other in a long line, their elbows knocking obnoxiously into each other. After some maneuvering, they managed to wrangle themselves into a somewhat comfortable position, and Ian propped his chin up in his hands as he looked over at Mickey.

          “So. What time am I allowed back in my common room?”

          Mickey nudged him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

          Ian made a scathing noise in the back of his throat. “Mick. Please.”

          Mickey laughed, nudging him a little harder so that Ian rocked partially onto his side, threatening to fall off the bed until he wavered back onto his stomach.

          “Fine,” said Mickey still grinning widely at him. “Eight o’clock sharp. I was told that being late would put me under penalty of death.”

          “Penalty of death?” Ian quoted back incredulously.

          Mickey shrugged.

          “Lip,” they said at the same time, Mickey as explanation, Ian’s resignation.

          Ian laid around reading one of Mickey’s books while Mickey got started on an essay he had due two days later, occasionally piping up to help him verify some fact or properly phrase a sentence the way he wanted. Ian was a quarter of the way through his book when Mickey shut his notes and declared, “Dinner.”

          “Dinner?” Ian asked as he followed Mickey down to the common room. “You don’t have something special planned for this too, do you?”

          “No,” Mickey said, like it should have been obvious. “Relax, we’re just going to the Great Hall. I wanna get something substantial in me before we drink all the firewhiskey I ordered.”

          They breezed through dinner, having only gotten there at twenty to eight, and Ian’s excitement spiked as the time crept closer to the next hour. Mickey rolled his eyes when Ian bounced out of his seat at five til and dragged him up and out into the entrance hall.

          “It’s my birthday!” he said eagerly, pulling Mickey along by the hand he had wrapped around his wrist. “Come on, it’s time for me to get drunk and open my presents!”

          “Yeah, yeah,” Mickey muttered as Ian towed him along, but he could tell that some of his enthusiasm was rubbing off on him as Mickey kept up with him half-running down to the Slytherin dungeon.

          Mickey pulled him to a violent stop outside the entrance to the common room, forcing him to give them both a second to catch their breaths before he gave the password and tugged Mickey along inside. He got two steps into the dark room when all the lanterns flared to life at once, and all around the room packed full of his housemates and friends came a loud, enthusiastic chorus of, “Happy birthday!”

          Ian laughed elatedly and let go of Mickey, allowing two boys from the year below him to pull him directly into the fray. Mandy appeared by his side out of nowhere, and she dragged him into a tight hug.

          “Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly in his ear.

          Ian grinned as she pulled away, and she pushed a cup full of some amber liquid into his hand.

          “Drink up!” she instructed. “Tell me all about your day later—I gotta go work out the music!”

          She disappeared before Ian could offer more than a weak goodbye, and then he was being corralled into more hugs and back slaps and “happy birthday”s of varying gusto and volume. Sometime between three of his dormmates forcing two shots down his throat and a girl two years above him, to whom he had never spoken, throwing her arms around his neck, Mandy managed to turn the music on, and some rock band Ian had never heard of came blasting through the room. Karen found him after the seventh year girl squeezed back into the sea of people, and she grabbed his forearm after her own well wishes were pronounced to pull him over to a table pushed back into a corner and filled up with sweets and dessert foods.

          “You’re lucky Mickey made me feed him dinner,” said Ian, piling a plate up with cornbread and treacle tart.

          “Oh, live a little,” said Karen, waving a hand airily. She grabbed some chocolate for herself, topped off a cup of spiced mead, and winked before she swept away back into the crowd, only to be quickly replaced by Mandy.

          “How many non-Slytherins are here?” Ian asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

          “A lot,” Mandy answered back, grinning. “Everyone seemed really into it. Don’t worry, we shut out the third years and below and put muffling charms all around so no one can hear us from outside.”

          “Thank god.”

          They shared another smile, and when Mandy tipped her cup in his direction, he clinked his own drink against it. They tipped them back to drink deeply.

          “I’m gonna go find your brother,” Ian said when they were done. “He’s probably having an aneurysm already.”

          “Okay,” said Mandy, clearly losing interest. “I’m gonna go find a boy.”

          “Okay,” said Ian, laughing a little. He watched her until she was swallowed by the people now rocking slightly to the music and then pushed away from the food table to go find Mickey.

          He found him five minutes later, sitting in one of the armchairs not yet occupied by couples or the odd drunk dancer, by the back wall where the press of people hadn’t fully commandeered the space yet. Ian sat down on the arm of his chair without a hello, and tipped half of his drink into Mickey’s empty cup. Mickey raised it to his lips, similarly without acknowledgement, and Ian waited until he had taken a few hearty gulps before he spoke.

          “Hey,” he said, finally. “Enjoying yourself?”

          “Of course,” Mickey said sarcastically. He hadn’t even finished answering before a couple joined at the mouth teetered towards them, and Mickey stuck his foot out to kick them in the direction of a different chair.

          Ian watched them exchange glares in amusement until the couple made their way elsewhere. When he turned back to Mickey, his indifferent expression had turned sour.

          “I’m just peachy,” he muttered.

          Ian just laughed. “Well, I’m glad you’re here anyway,” he said, while Mickey made a face and took another long drink from his cup.

          “You wanna dance a little?” Ian tried. “There’s some guys I know who probably—”

          “Ian, I’d rather Transfigure myself into a house-elf for a day than dance with any of those guys,” Mickey interrupted. Then he sighed. “Just—just go have fun, alright? I’ll be fine.”

          Ian hesitated.

          “ _Go_ ,” Mickey insisted, shoving him off the chair and in the direction of the more rowdy areas of the party. “I’ll still be sitting here drinking myself to an early grave when you get back.”

          At last, Ian laughed in relief, and with a promise to be back soon he let himself get swept up in the festivities.

          Within a few hours, Ian was well and truly drunk. His Hogwarts-aged siblings were there making sure he kept drinking and laughing, and as much as he wanted to blame Mandy and his family continuously pouring him drinks for the indiscretion, in all honesty it was his birthday and he kept telling people to fuck off when they recommended he slow down, and soon the suggestions stopped coming. Someone scrounged up or made or charmed a paper crown and fit it onto his head, and as the birthday king for the evening, Ian pretty much had free reign. Free reign meant lots and lots of drinks.

          The party had already begun to wind down, and most of the stray invitees had opted to return to their own houses or dorms, when someone in the remaining gaggle of close friends suggested that Ian open his presents. Giggling, Ian grabbed Mandy’s hand, as she was closest to him, and tugged her along with him to sit beside him on the couch while the others got their gifts and piled them on the floor in front of him. Once everyone was gathered around, Ian reached for the one on top—from one of the boys in his dormitory—and started tearing into his presents.

          Ten minutes later and Ian was covered in wrapping paper and only had two gifts left: a long, flat box the size of his forearm, and a slightly bigger rectangular one beneath it, from Mandy and Mickey respectively. Mandy squeezed his hand when he reached and settled hers on his lap, sharing excited grins.

          He tore off the wrapper, scattering it somewhere amongst the rest of the empty boxes and paper littering the floor before him. Mandy pressed closer and closer to his side until he finally took off the lid of the box.

          Nestled in haphazardly stuffed wrapping papers were two plain, perfect concert tickets.

          Ian could feel Mandy practically vibrating next to him when he lifted them out of their casing, jostling him minutely while he read the fine print detailing the event and time and other details. After about a minute, he lowered the tickets and looked up into Mandy’s beaming face.

          “You got me Fanged Kneazles tickets?” he shouted, right as he tackled her sideways onto the couch.

          “Yes!” she cried back, pulling him into a hug at the same time that he jumped her.

          “I can’t believe it!”

          “Neither can I,” she yelled, “and I bought the damn things!”

          “Mandy!”

          “I know!”

          “ _Mandy_!”

          “ _I know_!”

          They kept hugging and shouting, growing increasingly incoherent as they screamed and cheered and talked over each other, for a good few minutes before Ian regained control of himself somewhat.

          “How’d you even find these?” he asked, sitting up again now. “They’re pretty much impossible—no one ever knows where they’re going to be.”

          “I know people,” Mandy said, still grinning.

          Finally, Debbie cleared her throat, reminding Ian of the others’ presence somewhat, and he turned his attention back to them.

          “Okay, sorry,” he said, throwing his sister a small, apologetic smile and getting an affectionate eye roll in return. “One more.”

          He held his arms out and wiggled his fingers until someone picked up the last remaining box and handed it over.

          Mandy threw a smug look at her brother, who had perched on the arm of the couch next to Ian’s seat.

          “Beat _that_ gift,” she said, challenge lining her face and smirk.

          Mickey raised his eyebrows at her crossed arms. “Oh, I will,” he assured her.

          Ian glanced excitedly between the two of them as they bickered. Then Mickey nodded slightly at him, and with a full blown grin, Ian turned his attention to the present in his palms and tore off the wrapping paper in a frenzy while Mickey leaned back to rest against the edge of the couch.

          Even once the box was torn open, Ian wasn’t immediately sure what he was looking at. He did know, however, from Mickey’s smugness and overall confidence in his gift-getting ability, that it had to be more than what it looked like. Still, he couldn’t help himself from casting an uncertain glance up at Mickey.

          “It’s…a mirror?”

          And a small one at that; the frame was smaller than the length of a quill and half as wide—Ian could easily fit it into his pocket.

          The eye roll that Mickey bestowed upon him then was of epic proportions; it was possibly the most dramatic Ian had ever seen him.

          “It’s not just a _mirror_ ,” he said witheringly, but he swelled a little when he said with a hint of pride, “It’s a Protean Mirror.”

          “Protein?”

          “Pro-tee-an,” Mickey said, now sounding vaguely annoyed. “Look, I’ve got the other one. Means we can talk to each other through them, and I can see you on the other side, and you can see me. Get it?”

          “Wait a minute,” said Ian, a grin forming slowly across his face. “You don’t mean—”

          “Oh yeah,” Mickey said, nodding slightly, a similar smile transforming his perpetual scowl into something both softer and lighter. “I mean round-the-clock, no-holds-barred communication. Just tap the front and say my name, and mine will heat up to let me know you’re calling.”

          “You’re kidding!” Ian was getting excited now, bouncing a little in his seat. “Detention? Classes? Making plans when you’re too lazy to walk to my dorm?”

          “Fast notice all the time,” Mickey confirmed.

          “You’re kidding!”

          “Would you stop fucking saying that?” Mickey said, also rising in volume but without any of his usual heat. “I’m not fucking kidding!”

          “Where’d you find this?” Ian marveled, running his fingers over the single wooden edge of the mirror.

          “I found it at shut the fuck up and enjoy your gift, asshole.”

          His tone did nothing to dampen Ian’s excitement, and he looked up at him with a familiar affection spilled across his face.

          “Mickey!”

          “Ian!” he answered, in a ridiculous imitation of Ian’s voice, right before Ian jumped up and pulled Mickey to his feet to crush him in a back-breaking hug. Ian, still muddled by way too much alcohol and that inevitable birthday high, pressed a smacking kiss to Mickey’s cheek before he pulled away from him.

          “This is amazing!” he kept saying, while his friends grinned up at him and a few started to giggle.

          Mickey was flushed slightly pink from the attention. He punched Ian’s arm lightly and said, “Happy birthday, man.”

          Finally, Ian was pulled away from the chatter that recommenced by Lip.

          “Look, I should get Debbie to bed,” he said, jerking his thumb over to where their sister was toying with one of the fake wands Ian had gotten as a gag gift and talking to a Slytherin girl in his year.

          Ian nodded. “Okay, sure. Hey, thanks for coming.”

          Lip met him halfway in a hug. “It was a great party you know,” he said, squeezing him tightly before he pulled away. He swept a hand through his already messy hair. “I was impressed.”

          “You threw it,” Ian snorted. “You just liked the drugs being passed around. Mickey and Mandy brought them, thank them.”

          Lip, now casting glances at the pair of siblings, muttered, “Yeah, sure,” in an entirely unconvincing tone. Then he put on another smile, clapped Ian on the shoulder, and said one more time, “Happy birthday, kid. See you at breakfast tomorrow?”

          “Sure thing,” he affirmed. “Hey, Debbie!”

          After Ian had hugged his sister and bid the pair of them farewell, one of Ian’s dormmates offered to help clean up the mess of wrapping paper and ribbons he had made while Mickey and Mandy helped charm his small pile of gifts upstairs. The three of them fell in step behind the floating presents, their wands held aloft and the siblings’ voices echoing dully through the staircase as they bickered over whose present had been better, altogether ignoring Ian whenever he tried to butt in that they were both astonishingly good. Once everything was set down in Ian’s dormitory, Mandy left to clear everyone out of the common room and head to bed, and Ian followed her down to thank them and say goodnight.

          Mickey was still there when Ian came back upstairs, now sitting on his bed and swinging his feet idly.

          “So,” he said, while Ian started to strip out of his robes and get into sweatpants instead, “good birthday, huh?”

          Just the mention of the day he’d had had Ian grinning, and he shoved his robes into the box he used as a laundry basket and jumped onto the bed, landing facedown on the pillow.

          “Great birthday,” he confirmed.

          Mickey reclined back until he was lying next to him, staring at the ceiling, and Ian turned his head to lay on his other cheek so that he could look at him. Mickey didn’t say anything else, though, and as his copious amounts of drinking started to catch up with the adrenaline he’d been running on all day, Ian got tired of staring at his profile, and his eyes glided closed.

          “You staying here tonight?” he mumbled.

          He felt the bed shifting around like Mickey was getting comfortable, and then came a quiet, “Yeah.” Ian gave a small hum of agreement. Right before he drifted off, he felt Mickey lay a warm hand on his bare back, and thought he heard the smallest whisper ghost over him.

          “Happy birthday, Ian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:))](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/post/132152962475) happy almost halloween!!


	5. misery loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want me,” Mickey drawled slowly, as though Ian were completely thick and not at all fully comprehending his own idea, “to pretend to be your boyfriend?”  
> “I want you to relax while I tell people you’re my boyfriend,” Ian corrected.

          If Ian hated anything about the stretch of time between his birthday and Christmas, it was that he had nothing to look forward to and heaps of homework to complete before the holidays. His professors were starting to get antsier than both Mickey and Mandy combined, who now spent an increasingly greater amount of time shut up in the library studying and increasingly less amount of time with Ian.

          “You could study too, you know,” Mandy pointed out one day when Ian entered his second hour of sitting beside her at her table in the library.

          Ian didn’t even lift his head where it was cushioned on his arm, giving him a perfect vantage point to watch himself spin a quill around and around. He did, however, make a decent attempt at a shrug as he said, “Meh.”

          Mandy rolled her eyes. “Then stop humming, it’s throwing me off.”

          “Take a _break_.”

          “I need the grades, shithead,” she said, flicking her fingers near his head over and over so that Ian flinched repeatedly until he had cringed far enough away from her that she stopped doing it. “Go on, scat. I got shit to do and you’re not helping, like at all. Go bother my brother or something.”

          She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the stacks, where they had seen Mickey disappear half an hour ago and from where he had yet to return.

          “Because Mickey doesn’t need the grades?” Ian said sardonically, arching an eyebrow at her.

          Mandy sighed dramatically, slumping forwards on the table as she finally looked over at him. “Who _cares_?” she groaned. “Just get the fuck out of here, I don’t care if _he_ fails.”

          “You’re sweet,” said Ian.

          He rolled his eyes, but scraped his chair back to begin gathering his books anyway, and Mandy looked more relieved than anything else as he began shoving them into his bag. She didn’t even bother to scrounge up a repentant or regretful look as he snapped his bookbag closed, just waved idly when he huffed a goodbye and buried her nose back in her work before he had even pushed his chair back in.

          Ian meandered back into the stacks instead, wending his way up and down aisles aimlessly, only half glancing at the books around him while he really searched for a shock of carefully messy black hair. After nearly ten minutes’ of search, and when he was nearly ready to sneak into the Restricted Section to check, he found Mickey curled up in a far, dusty corner, away from nearly every relevant text and in the only swathe of sunlight around, spilling from the window across from him in his little nook.

          Ian trotted up and let his bag slip from his shoulder as he sank to the floor beside him, leaning against the wall just around the corner from Mickey so their shoulders brushed at the seam of the wall.

          “How’s it going?” Ian asked, leaning his head back and gazing aimlessly up at the ceiling.

          Mickey’s entire arm brushed his as he shrugged. “Reading,” he said simply.

          “For class?”

          “Study break,” he returned tonelessly.

          Ian was quiet for maybe two seconds thinking that over. Then he said, “Hang out with me?”

          Mickey let out the barest breath of a sigh before he answered, “We’re hanging out right now,” his words hinting at annoyance.

          “Hanging out probably requires your attention be on me instead of a book,” Ian pointed out.

          “Does it?” he asked, sounding uninterested. “Show me the rulebook.”

          Ian fell silent again, momentarily stumped. And then—

          “Wanna play a game of Exploding Snap?”

          “Maybe after dinner.”

          “Or we could do it now.”

          “Hmm.”

          “Gobstones? Duel me?”

          “Not in the mood to drag you to the hospital wing,” Mickey said idly, flipping a page.

          Ian groaned exaggeratedly, lolling his head to the side until Mickey came into view in his periphery. “I’m bored!” he complained.

          “Yes, I can see that.”

          “You can _see_ that? Weird, I thought you’d have to look up from your book to see what planet we’re on, let alone to suss out my mood.”

          “Fine. I can hear that.”

          “Oh, Jesus Christ, Mickey.”

          Mickey shrugged again, but when Ian craned his neck a little further he saw a delighted smile teasing at the corners of his lips. He grumbled a little as he crossed his arms.

          “Are you gonna hang out with me or not?” he demanded.

          “Or not.” He turned another page. “After dinner, I swear.”

          “Oh, he _swears_ ,” Ian muttered irritably, getting heavily to his feet again. He hiked his bag up over his shoulder and threw Mickey a nasty look, which was completely ignored, before slouching away from him, back through the bookshelves to the main library where the tables were. Mandy caught his eye when he passed her, and Ian threw up a middle finger behind him, towards the shelves. Mandy shrugged helplessly.

          Now at a loss completely for what to do, and rather wishing he had more friends who weren’t taking OWLs or NEWTs, he headed in the direction of his common room and collapsed bodily onto a couch, ignoring the circle of third years whose conversation he had interrupted and listening to them scramble away for an undisturbed circle of chairs. After awhile of eavesdropping on their uninteresting chatter, and when sleep refused to save him, Ian sat up and pulled his bag towards him to start in on some homework he’d been putting off.

 

\- - -

 

          Mandy found him again the next morning at breakfast, where he was swirling his eggs around his plate more than he was eating them and counting the specks he could see on the wooden table top.

          “Lists are coming around this week,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

          Ian lifted his chin off his hand and looked around at her, something finally grasping his attention in what was turning into an overwhelmingly monotonous week. “Lists?”

          “Yeah, the winter break lists,” she said as she began piling food onto her plate. She sounded somehow distracted, but Ian thought he detected a tinge of harried misery beneath it. “Shit, I’m starving. I’ve been studying all fucking night, and yesterday…barely fucking slept, to be honest.”

          “Could’ve been with me,” Ian pointed out, trying to sound both enticing and superior.

          “Yeah? You found something fun to do after you left?” she asked, and she sounded so genuinely interested, her face even falling when he slumped back in his seat instead of joining in on her enthusiasm.

          “No,” he admitted, stabbing at another bit of scrambled egg. “I got bored and started doing homework.”

          He threw an elbow out towards her when she started laughing, but reluctantly grinned after a minute, swept up in finally having one of the first real conversations he’d experienced in the past two days.

          They shut up when Ian’s Head of House came by a minute later, brandishing a piece of parchment at them and effectively interrupting them.

          “Gallagher, Milkovich,” said Professor Veneficus as he came up behind them.

          “Hello, professor,” said Ian, while Mandy waved vaguely. From the corner of his eye, Ian could see how rigid she suddenly was in her seat

          “Yes, hello…Have you two signed up to stay over break yet? You’re the last fifth year Slytherin I have to ask.” The last part, he directed at Ian.

          “Oh, I’m okay,” said Ian, waving his hand. “I’m going home as soon as classes are out, to be honest.”

          The professor smiled. “Ah yes, you like to catch your sister’s car with your gaggle of siblings, don’t you? I always liked her, despite having some lingering Gryffindor prejudice towards us…Tell Fiona I said hello, won’t you?”

          “Sure thing,” said Ian, still smiling politely.

          He offered the sign-up sheet to Mandy next, who flushed immediately.

          “Oh…I should really talk to my Head of House about it, shouldn’t I?” she said. She sounded perfectly polite, but Ian thought she was hedging more than anything, and he shot her a curious look. She glanced at him and blushed deeper, but held the professor’s stare determinedly.

          “I suppose,” said Veneficus haltingly. “Well, anyway…have a good evening, you two.”

          “Yep,” said Ian.

          He threw up a wave, and after a second the professor meandered away. Ian turned to Mandy, opening his mouth to question her behavior, but leaned back again when he saw how hastily she was shoving away her untouched plate and shouldering her bag.

          “I gotta go,” she said quickly. “Uhm…talk to Mickey, I don’t want to deal with him yet.”

          “Deal with him—Mandy, what? Why are you being weird? Where the fuck are you going?”

          “Just—I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Shit. Shit, I didn’t think it’d be this soon. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t—Fuck. Okay.”

          “Mandy, what’s going—”

          “I gotta go!” she snapped, pausing in her rushed exit only to glare at him. “Jesus. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ian.” As she hurried out of the great hall, she threw back over her shoulder, “Talk to Mickey!” and then she was gone.

          Ian slumped back in seat for a moment, too confused to immediately move. Then, slowly but surely, he went back to his breakfast. He wouldn’t have time to talk to Mickey until that afternoon, after classes were over, and he really wasn’t looking forward to a whole day now not only largely without Mickey, but stewing in the knowledge that something was wrong. Unable to skip, however—he wasn’t even studying as much as he should be without adding skiving off on top of that—Ian left the Great Hall ten minutes later with a hand full of toast and his head full of Mickey as he headed into the entrance hall with the rest of the buffeting, impatient crowd.

          Classes were hell, and he was forced to sit through two quizzes and several long lectures before he was finally free. He and Mickey usually met up between at least one class, and also for lunch if they couldn’t even swing it between classes, but the Great Hall was hardly a good place to have a serious conversation, in a crowd of busy and chattering students all crushing around them. Nevertheless, Ian squeezed his way into the Great Hall after his morning classes, only to find Mickey waiting for him by the door with two sandwiches in hand. He jerked his head when Ian saw him, motioning him outside, and, albeit a little confused, Ian followed him back into the entrance hall and out the main doors.

          “Shit, Mickey,” he muttered, clutching at his arms. “It’s fucking freezing. Can I at least go get a jacket?”

          “Do whatever you want,” he said dismissively without turning around.

          Ian stopped to stare at his retreating back for only a split second before he hurried his steps to catch up with him.

          Mickey was quiet while they walked, occasionally throwing out a comment about the strange new creatures they could see huddled together in Hagrid’s dead pumpkin patch, but mostly he just listened while Ian chatted about who had messed up in Transfiguration that morning and the resulting trip to the hospital wing while the rest of the class got dismissed early. Ian knew he was talking too much to compensate for Mickey’s silence, which was even more prevalent than usual, but he couldn’t help himself. Silence with Mickey was flying for too long–comfortable until it was unnatural, until it made Ian’s skin crawl.

          They stopped around the side of the castle that faced the greenhouses. Ian resisted another complaint about the weather and took the sandwiches while Mickey produced his wand and cleared them a space in the snow, even conjuring a small fire for them to huddle near. Mickey had on his thicker, winter robes, but Ian hadn’t changed them out from his regular ones yet; he was already shivering, and gratefully accepted Mickey nodding him closer until he pressed up as close to his side as he could possibly get.

          “So what’s with the relocation?” Ian asked.

          Mickey plucked one of the sandwiches out of Ian’s hand and didn’t say anything until he had fully unwrapped it and taken a large bite out of the side. When Ian’s gaze didn’t waver, he shrugged.

          “Too many people,” he said vaguely. “Fuckin’…can barely breathe in there sometimes.”

          Ian just looked at him for a few beats, and then he said, slowly, “Sure,” drawing out the word extensively in his careful bemusement.

          Still, Mickey didn’t elaborate any further than that, so after awhile Ian started eating too. They were mostly quiet but for their chewing until they were about halfway done with their meal, and then Ian swallowed and cleared his throat, and Mickey turned to look at him.

          “So what’re your plans for break?” he asked as casually as he could possibly pull off.

          Mickey shrugged. He appeared very interested in the sandwich that he was now tearing to pieces with his fiddling fingers more than he was consuming it.

          “Go home, I guess. I don’t know. The usual.”

          He sounded resigned, not at all unsure. Ian watched him carefully, waiting for the kicker, but it never came. Finally he sighed.

          “Mickey—”

          “Don’t.”

          The word was harsh and cold and came without warning or follow-up. Ian turned to him in surprise, but Mickey was biting aggressively at his sandwich and didn’t look at him. Ian tried again:

          “Why are you—”

          “Ian,” he snapped, finally raising his eyes to Ian’s, “I’m not fucking talking about it, okay? Drop it.”

          “Okay, okay,” he said, raising his free hand submissively. “I’ll…okay, forget it. Whatever ‘it’ is.” He sighed. “You wanna—”

          “Ian, I don’t really fucking feel like talking. At all,” he said. “About anything. Fuck.”

          Before Ian could say anything more, Mickey was standing quickly and throwing his leftovers in the grass, grinding it down with his heel.

          “I’ll see you later,” he muttered, and he walked away, ignoring Ian when he called after him.

          They usually met up again after Ian’s potions class, before he had to go to his next class, but he couldn’t find him in any of their usual spots and Mickey wasn’t answering the Protean Mirror he had gotten for this very situation, so he clearly didn’t want to be found. By the time Ian was done looking, he had to run to make it before class started. Between Mickey avoiding him and him snapping when they did find each other, Ian wasn’t really in the mood to help out at all anymore. He did, however, fully know that he could hardly face Mandy again without at least trying, and anyway some less vindictive part of him still wanted to help no matter how forcefully Mickey rebuffed him, so he gathered what few scraps of patience and resolve he possessed while waiting for the day to finally end, and prepared to try again.

          He finally got another opening after his last class let out, and he fully intended on going to Mickey and at the very least comforting him, even if he wouldn’t explain what was wrong. Unfortunately, just as he was setting foot back onto the spiral staircases to head for the Hufflepuff common room, he was corralled by Karen.

          “Dinnertime, no time to argue,” she said, looping her arm through Ian’s and spinning him around.

          “But I—”

          “You think they’re serving pie for dessert?” she mused over his protests.

          “Karen, I can’t—”

          “Shut up, Ian,” she sighed, still dragging him along. “Push your urgent shit back twenty minutes, my god.”

          Unsure exactly towards what he was rushing anyway, as he still couldn’t find Mickey anywhere, Ian couldn’t conjure up a viable excuse in time and so fell reluctantly into step beside Karen as she shoved their way through the dinnertime rush towards the Great Hall.

          Ian was halfway indulged in both food and Karen’s story about an encounter with her least favorite Gryffindor when he looked up and, just for a second, everyone in the Hall leaned exactly the right way to clear Ian’s line of sight directly to Mickey. He was sitting alone at the edge of the Hufflepuff table, stabbing sullenly at whatever he was eating and avoiding the conversation of the people nearest him. Ian spent a solid minute or two trying to catch his eye, but Mickey was sulking pretty determinedly and he didn’t manage to get his attention before Karen, now upset and snippy, snapped her fingers in front of his face.

          “Ian!” she complained, looking hurt. “Are you even listening to me?”

          “Yeah, yeah, I am,” he promised, turning back towards her. “Sorry, I’m…anyway, so you’d bewitched her textbook blank?”

          Karen eyed him skeptically for a second before she seemed to decide that she either forgave him or no longer cared; Ian could rarely tell with her which way their spats resolved. Either way, after a few seconds she flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned towards him as she continued her story of vengeance in a feud with a Hufflepuff girl that Ian no longer remembered the naissance of.

          Ian hoped to catch Mickey before dinner was over, but no such luck; Karen was only just nearing the end of her tale when Ian saw Mickey shove back his plate and get to his feet. He kept his eyes trained firmly down as he shouldered his bookbag, and Ian watched him walk away for only a few seconds before he returned his gaze to Karen and resumed listening to her story, before she could get upset again.

          Finally, dinner resolved, and Ian got up hastily.

          “I have to go,” he said before Karen could even ask. “Sorry, I just—I’ll see you tomorrow okay? Bye.”

          “Ian—”

          “Bye!” he called again, only turning long enough to wave at her before he spun around to all but hurtle his way out of the Great Hall, nearly bumping into several people before he was clear.

          He had to move fairly slowly with the post-dinner haze of students, who were all too lulled and delighted with the end of the day to pick up the pace. Still, Ian managed to make it to the Hufflepuff common room’s entrance less than five minutes later, and he paused to better catch his breath before heading inside.

          The common room was all but empty. Ian supposed most of them were still down at dinner, or else the presence of an obviously distraught Mickey Milkovich had cleared the weaker-hearted stragglers away, because when Ian entered the room he was met by no one but the hunched form of Mickey, sitting in the far corner by the window. He had pulled a chair up, directly in front of it, and he could have had a very cozy view of the grounds if he wasn’t leaning his head against the glass, in no position to view anything. From studying his profile, Ian could tell that his eyes were closed. The snowflakes from outside—Ian wasn’t precisely sure when it had started snowing—stuck against the windows, making pretty designs on the glass.

          He almost didn’t want to go over and find out what was wrong—whatever it was had had Mickey acting cagey all day, and being even moodier and more antisocial than usual; the empty common room was proof enough of that.

          Still, more than anything was the nagging worry about Mickey, so Ian forced himself to get over that knee-jerk reaction to stay away from him when he got like this (he hadn’t been remotely afraid of Mickey since second year at the very latest, but Mickey’s moods always left them both bitter and dissatisfied, so he still got the urge to leave him alone most of the time when he was like this) and unstick his feet.

          Ian didn’t know whether Mickey had noticed him approaching, or even entering the room. He crossed the floor in slow, quiet footsteps, and Mickey still didn’t look up. Ian had just reached a hand out to close over his friend’s shoulder when Mickey sighed. His forehead remained pressed to the glass of the window, and he didn’t open his eyes before speaking.

          When he did, his voice was low. All he said was, “Mandy?”

          Ian bit his lip, unable to parse the tone of his voice and unsure what answer would go over better. Finally, he sighed, and admitted, “Yeah.”

          Mickey went quiet again. Then—

          “I can’t go home, man,” he whispered.

          Something split open in Ian’s chest, and he felt heavy and shattered for him. Of course this was about that—every year, without fail, the prospect of going home haunted both Mickey and Mandy before they left and for awhile after they came back.

          Still, Ian couldn’t resist his go-to rebuttal.

          “So don’t,” he suggested, just as softly as Mickey. Mickey shrugged away from him when he went to put his hand on his shoulder again, just as wintery as the night. Ian pressed on without reaching for him again. “Stay here, stay at Hogwarts. Students stay over all the time.”

          Mickey said nothing, only knocked his head gently against the glass in response. He was quiet for so long that Ian was turning over more advice in his mind, preparing to coax him further, when Mickey spoke again.

          “Remember the year I came back from break drunk?”

          He came home drunk a lot; Ian tried to wrack his brain for an outstanding instance through the shock of this deviation from their usual argument. Finally he settled on one and tried, “The year you ate three and a half chocolate cauldrons and two pasties before I convinced you to rinse the mead smell off you?”

          “And I fell asleep in the tub?”

          With his eyes glued to Mickey, he immediately noticed when a small smile tugged itself across his face, gentle, like he was falling asleep.

          “Yeah,” Ian said encouragingly.

          That small, strange smile was still stitched on when Mickey’s head began slowly rocking against the glass. Something seemed off about it, the gesture less than that of a contented, sleepy boy; something in him seemed wild. Ian just had to wait for it to break.

          “Joey ran off that year,” he said tonelessly. “First year he ever did it. Didn’t come home, took off with some girl. I think he was dating Jolene back then…Iggy was a wreck, owling him constantly, begging him to come back…Think he knew what was gonna happen before I did. I figured, who cared, you know? Tony’s mom was back from prison, so he wasn’t living with us anymore, and Colin had already moved out to a flat during the holidays…didn’t seem like a big deal, not to me.” He licked his lips. “He was supposed to lay low at school for a couple days, then head out to this place Jolene’s aunt had by the coast. No big deal, right?”

          He said the last part so bitterly, but didn’t go on until Ian prompted him.

          “Big deal, I guess?”

          “Big deal,” Mickey confirmed. His voice dropped, low and dark and gruff. Everything in Ian wanted to shrink away slightly, but he held firm, watching Mickey’s reflection in the window glass.

          “What happened?” he asked quietly.

          Mickey was silent. He sat up, raising his head from the glass, and turned to look at Ian. He still didn’t say anything, just sat there, blinking at him with his expression blank and his eyes unclear. Ian didn’t think it was from drink. He assumed that Mickey was trying to wrangle his thoughts together into a sensible, chronological story and lowered himself to the floor to wait it out, folding himself neatly down onto his knees so he could rest his arms on the chair and his chin on his arms. He looked up expectantly at Mickey, not prodding, just waiting.

          Finally, Mickey said, “Dad found him. He was furious when he didn’t come home, spent the first day and a half raging around…taking it out on us.”

          Ian winced. He remembered how Mickey had walked when he’d come back to school after that Christmas break, limping slightly and pressing a hand to his ribs when he laughed. He pressed his lips together to keep from snarling at the very memory.

          “He finally sobered up enough to think straight—well, straighter,” Mickey said. He sounded distant, unaffected and clinical as he listed off his father’s wrongs. Ian ached to reach out for him, soothe him by touch somehow, but he knew that that was his preferred method of comfort, not Mickey’s; Mickey, who would probably flinch if Ian made contact now.

          Mickey went on, “He figured out Joey was up at the castle and came storming up just as he was packing his bags. Joey was a fucking idiot, still is, but he at least had the good sense to hide in his dorm when he heard Dad was raging the halls—but it didn’t matter. But he couldn’t get into the Slytherin dorms. There’s not a portrait to argue with, so he was SOL.”

          “But Terry always finds a way,” Ian whispered. Mickey and Mandy had both told him that, more than once. Distantly, Ian wondered if they knew that their father wasn’t really all-powerful, even though he could see the logic in their thinking.

          In front of him, Mickey nodded absently.

          “Terry always finds a way,” he agreed. “McGonagall would have blasted his ass back to Hangleton if she thought he was trying to come here to do what he came here to do, but he found one of the prefects first, some scrawny fuck—” Mickey waved his hand around dismissively, “he’s graduated by now, who knows where the fuck that skinny punk is now. Anyway, kid didn’t want to let him in, but Terry intimidates him, you know, screaming that he’s a well-respected pureblood and the kid better goddamn remember it. Doesn’t even let him run for a teacher or anything before he gets the info he needs out of him. And he marches right back to the dorm, and gets in, and stomps right on up to Joey’s dorm and gives him the flaying of his fucking life.”

          Ian didn’t know what to say—Mickey rarely talked so openly about what went on at his home, even though they both knew about it anyway. Ian didn’t want to pry about this, and Mickey seemed to like it that way. His lack of response proved inconsequential, however, because after a moment Mickey took a deep breath and plunged on.

          “Joey—well. Joey was laid up in the hospital wing all winter break, never ran off with his girl. Jolene figured, hey, she can find some other stupid fuck to bang nonstop at a cabin, runs off with one of her other boyfriends, some Ravenclaw kid. Unfuckingbelievable. Joey’s in pieces, but you know what? Kid came back home for summer break, right on time.”

          The bitterness in Mickey’s voice was almost too much to respond to; in fact, Ian couldn’t think of anything to say at all. Mickey was watching him, though, so he grasped at the first question that came to mind and blurted out, “What about Easter?”

          Mickey snorted, finally looking away. “Dad’s too drunk to notice Easter break. Just the major holidays he wants us home for, helping out with the cash and debts and stuff. Blood above all, you know the motto.”

          He sighed then, pressing his head into his hands. Joey and his other brothers were old enough now, and mostly had families of their own, that they were free to come and go basically as they pleased without fear of Terry’s wrath every single time. Terry seemed to like the continuation of his bloodline more than help around the house. As the youngest, and still unmarried, childless, and in school, Mickey and Mandy weren’t so lucky.

          Without considering too deeply, Ian placed a tentative hand to Mickey’s back and, when he received no rebuff, began rubbing in slow, gentle circles. Mickey’s voice, when he spoke again, came out quieter and croakier than Ian could remember him ever sounding.

          “I can’t go home, man,” Mickey muttered into his hands. “I go home now and he’ll fucking kill me.”

          “Why?” Ian asked. He didn’t need to be quiet, technically, but something in the situation seemed to demand it.

          Mickey shook his head fiercely. “It’s my last time home before I’m supposed to move out, get a wife, make some kids…whatever. He finds out I’ve got no jobs lined up, no girl on my arm, no fucking plans…what then? He’s gonna be wild just thinking I won’t come back again, let alone if I show up fucking disappointing whatever fucked up version of myself he’s hoping I’ll become. I can’t do it. I just…I can’t fucking do it.”

          Ian chanced moving his hand away from his back and up to brush lightly through Mickey’s hair. Met with no response, Ian flattened his hand out and stroked his fingers in deeper, more soothingly.

          “You won’t have to,” he promised, and his voice came out more sure and determined than he’d even meant it to.

          Mickey sighed. “Ian, now’s not the time for you love-conquers-all fairytale shit—”

          “I’m not saying anything,” he said firmly. “Just…we’ll figure something out, okay? Anything.”

          Mickey shook his head slightly. Lowly, he muttered, “Yeah, well I’ll _take_ anything right about now.”

          Ian hummed idly and went back to rubbing his back in slow, even circles, as they lapsed into thought together.

          “You could get your own place now,” he tried after a minute.

          Mickey snorted. “Yeah, with all the money I have laying on me just waiting to be spent.”

          “What about savings?”

          “All stashed at home.” Mickey rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “I can’t get it without going back there.”

          Ian hummed in idle acknowledgement. Then he said, “You could stay with me.”

          Mickey looked up.

          “Stay with you?” he echoed, sounding hollow.

          Ian shrugged, hot beneath his scrutiny. “Yeah?” he said, not meaning it to sound like a question.

          “You can barely get by with just you guys,” Mickey said dismissively. Ian could tell he was hedging; he looked away and rubbed at his nose, definitely interested but holding off hope.

          “We could manage,” Ian coaxed. “Come on, I could use some company there anyway. A whole month without magic and just Frank stumbling in and out. You know how his magic gets chaotic when he’s drunk. And he’s always drunk. Last year he accidentally hexed all our silverware to putty because Fiona wouldn’t give him any dinner.”

          Mickey glanced up at him, tiny and with the barest slimmer of hope and gone before Ian could get a handle on his thoughts.

          “Fiona would never go for it,” he said.

          “We don’t know that.”

          “Yes we do,” Mickey argued. “Remember, you tried to get Mandy to stay over three years ago and she said no even though Lip’s girlfriend was staying there. It was bullshit.”

          “Yeah, well, you know Fi’s a romantic,” Ian sighed. “She’ll do anything if she thinks it’s for true love.”

          Mickey made a scoffing sound with his throat at the mocking tone he adopted when he said _true love_ , but Ian thought it might have been with laughter this time, reluctant through his misery. They were both quiet again, thinking—and then Mickey looked up at him right as Ian’s attention shot back to him, and he knew they were having the same thought.

          “No,” Mickey protested, before Ian could say anything. “Absolutely not. No fucking way.”

          “Mickey, this would work!”

          “ _No_!” he said again. He got to his feet and faced Ian straight on, the clearest he’d looked all week. “I’m not gonna be your boyfriend, that is not happening.”

          “Oh, because it would be so bad,” Ian snapped. “I’d be the best boyfriend you’d ever fucking have. And relax, it wouldn’t be _real_. We would just have to…act like it.”

          “You want me,” Mickey drawled slowly, as though Ian were completely thick and not at all fully comprehending his own idea, “to pretend to be your _boyfriend_?”

          “I want you to relax while I tell people you’re my boyfriend,” Ian corrected. “That way you get to stay with me, and Fiona doesn’t mind, and everybody’s happy. You don’t have to do a damn thing, just let me do all the work.”

          “It’s the same thing!”

          “Subtle differences,” he argued. “Look, just…think about it, okay? You could get out of the house, I could have a little of-age backup when shit goes down…Just think about it. Promise me.”

          Mickey muttered something to himself and looked away. He scrubbed a hand hard over his face.

          “Fuck,” he said quietly, and then louder, looking Ian in the eye again, “I can’t leave Mandy stuck in that house alone.”

          That had Ian stopping again. He chewed his lip, thinking it over, determined now to make this work. He was so close to a way out if he could just get Mickey to stop worrying so much…

          “We’ll figure something out,” he promised eventually. Mickey scowled at his vagueness, and he revised, “Fine! If I figure something out, will you do it?”

          Mickey glared at him. “I’ll think about it.”

          “Okay!” Ian clapped his hands together. “Okay, fine. You think about it, I’ll work out Mandy. Deal?”

          Mickey didn’t answer right away. He sighed, picked at his nails, glared out the window some more. Finally, he muttered, “Deal.”

          Ian resisted grinning too hard until Mickey announced he was going to bed and stomped away up the stairs.

 

\- - -

 

          Mandy was much more on board with the idea when Ian proposed it to her the next day, while they strolled around the grounds as part of a compromise exercise meetup they’d had going since last year—she wouldn’t go running with him, but she did agree to a long, leisurely walk three times a week.

          “I can’t believe Mickey agreed to this,” she snickered when he told her. “My brother, the boyfriend. It sounds so ridiculous.”

          “He thought so too,” Ian said ruefully. “He wouldn’t even agree without about a dozen stipulations.”

          “Oh yeah?”

          “Mhmm. I have to do all the heavylifting actually getting the story out there, and I have to talk to my family. And we probably have to work out how to get his savings out of the house, too. Oh, and he won’t even do it unless we can get you out of the house along with him.”

          “What the fuck?” Mandy sounded mostly surprised, but she looked angry when Ian turned towards her at the outburst.

          “What?” he asked, startled.

          “Since when is it his business to watch out for me? Since when is it _yours_?”

          “Oh, relax,” said Ian, waving his hand. “He just wants to make sure you’re not the only kid holed up with daddy dearest. Come on, it’s a nice thing.”

          “It’s stupid,” she snapped. “He won’t save himself unless I come along for the ride? Since when is Mickey a fucking martyr?”

          Ian just sighed and waited for her to burn out on her rant.

          “I mean,” she went on, heedless of his patiently humoring expression, “where does he get off thinking he has to protect me or something? He’s not my fucking keeper, he doesn’t need to watch out for me. I can take care of my fucking self.”

          Ian arched an eyebrow at her disgust, and when she didn’t go on after a few more seconds, Ian assumed she was done and took a deep breath, preparing his rebuttal.

          “Look,” he started lamely, “I really want to see you _both_ this Christmas. Please, you’ve wanted to move out since you were thirteen. Think of how much fun we could have…” He nudged her with his elbow. “Eh? Snowball fights all of break? Christmas together? Fiona makes the best hot chocolate…”

          Mandy was desperately fighting a smile, but Ian could tell that she was starting to thaw out a little at the prospect of spending all break away from her father and somewhere close by to him.

          “Oh yeah?” she said, about as casual as Mickey was when trying and failing to fend off Ian’s persistence. “And where would I stay, hot shot? If Mickey’s already your boyfriend...who am I supposed to pretend to sleep with, huh? Lip? Carl?”

          “Ew, none of the above!” Ian smacked at her repeatedly in the arm while she laughed brightly. “None—of—the—above! No more Lip, and _don’t_ joke about my underage brother, you’re so gross!”

          “Oh, come on Ian, he really takes after you,” she teased, looping her arm through his and pulling him close. “Just saying…”

          “Jesus, just stop!” he shouted desperately. “I’ll think of something! Okay? But you’re in?”

          “Yeah, yeah, I’m in,” she laughed. “Jeez, untwist your panties, Gallagher. I’ll help you and my brother pretend to be boyfriends or whatever.”

          Ian eyed her suspiciously. “You’re going to make this miserable for us, aren’t you?”

          “Like you’d have it any other way,” she said.

          She tugged on his arm until he leaned down enough for her to plant a smacking kiss to his cheek. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “Just give me a few days to come up with something,” he said exasperatedly.

          “Yes, my sweet brother-in-law.”

 

          Ian was at a standstill until the end of the week. He met up with Mandy that Thursday afternoon to get in a little last-minute studying before break began tomorrow afternoon, and they headed down to an early dinner together when Ian got bored and starting making paper airplanes to throw at her instead of working. They found seats at the Slytherin table and immediately dug in.

          “Fuck, I’m so fucking hungry,” Mandy sighed. “Working all day _sucks_.”

          “I know,” said Ian while he cut up his chicken. “Fuck work.”

          “Fuck _you_ , you barely did anything,” she said.

          Ian’s offended denial was cut off by the arrival of Karen, who sat down heavily on Ian’s other side and immediately started picking off bits of cut-up potato from his plate, and he turned his animosity on her instead.

          “Just make your own plate!”

          “Oh, shut up,” she said, waving him off. Then she turned to Mandy, smiling more sweetly as she said, “So, what’s been going on?”

          “Working,” Mandy sighed regretfully. “Literally all fucking day. Tons of shit due before the break starts, which is in like twenty-four hours so obviously the teachers are all going insane.”

          “Tell me about it,” Karen said, frowning sympathetically. “I’ve been working nonstop just to get prelim applications in for the jobs I want when I graduate, forget doing any actual work for it. You know spots start filling up for all the good entry-level positions in _February_? I’m trying to get a jump on it.”

          Mandy gave her an empathetic pout for her troubles. Ian, meanwhile, felt much less charitable about her plight, given that he saw her flipping through magazines most afternoons instead of doing anything productive.

          “Don’t pretend you’re a workaholic or anything,” said Ian, rolling his eyes. “You work about as hard as me, and I’m just scraping by.”

          “Yeah, but I’m smarter than you, ginger,” she said, smirking. She tapped his nose knowingly. “Your effort scraping by is me excelling.”

          “You’re such a bitch, Karen.”

          “Such a _smart_ bitch,” she corrected, smiling sweetly.

          Mandy, grinning at their antics, broke in then. “So what have you been applying for, Karen?”

          “Oh, this and that,” she said, waving her hand. “Nothing too ambitious, hard work gives me cramps. Oh, and Mom isn’t ready to live on her own yet, so.” She spread her hands helplessly, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. “I’m gonna do another year with her before I decide anything, working a little, help out with some bills. Oh, that reminds me—Ian, thanks for the heads up! She found the coziest little place in your neighborhood, right down the street from you guys! You’re a fucking lifesaver, seriously.”

          Ian grinned at her. “That’s so great,” he said sincerely. “It’s not a bad neighborhood. Well, it is.” At Karen’s grimace, he added, “But you’re a smart bitch, right? So I’m sure you can handle it.”

          “You know it,” she said, punching his arm lightly. “I’ll run that place by the time we come back in January, just you wait.”

          “I humbly await your reign,” he said drily. He turned to Mandy then, who was sitting very still all of a sudden, her fork poised dumbly over her plate. Ian shot her a questioning look. “Mandy?”

          She shook her head a little, but ignored Ian completely when she asked, “Down the street?”

          Karen arched her brows as she turned to Mandy too. “Mhmm,” she confirmed airily, but with a slight edge of confusion too. “Why, what’s up with you?”

          When Mandy looked at him then, Ian understood exactly what was up with her. His hopeful, eager expression mirrored hers when they both turned back to Karen at the same time, and Mandy blurted out,

          “Can I stay with you this winter?”

          “Can you—wait, what?”

          “Just for now,” Mandy said hurriedly. “I swear, I’m easy as fuck to live with. And I share my whiskey when I get it. And roll joints better than you’ve ever seen.”

          “Relax,” Karen laughed. “What’s up with the sudden desire to move out one day before school lets out?”

          Mandy shot Ian a sideways look. He shrugged. She cut her eyes back to Karen.

          “Just…stuff,” she said evasively. “Uhm, home stuff, you know how my dad gets.”

          “Ah,” said Karen. She looked down and scuffed a nail against a chip in the wood table. “Yeah, I get that.”

          “So…?”

          “So, yes, of course,” said Karen, grinning again when she looked back up at Mandy. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, of course you can stay with me!”

          Sometime between Mandy flinging herself over the table to hug Karen and the girls getting into exactly how it would all work out, Mandy shot Ian a small, secretive smile. He threw her a thumbs up in return.

          “Look, I gotta go talk to Mickey about something,” Ian said a few minutes later, interrupting their plans to go buy Christmas presents together on a day that sounded suspiciously like the same weekend Mandy had been rhapsodizing about to him a few days earlier, when there was also clothing sale all her favorite stores.

          They both just waved him off, not even fully looking at him.

          “Yeah, yeah, go,” said Karen, barely sparing him a glance.

          “See you later,” said Mandy.

          They were already back in deep conversation before Ian had even cleared the Great Hall, and he rolled his eyes as he headed out and then down to the Hufflepuff common room.

          Mickey wasn’t immediately inside, so Ian headed up the stairs to his dormitory instead, which he found empty except for where Mickey was lounging on his bed in just sweatpants and his glasses, reading a book that didn’t look like it was for a class. He sat up when Ian came in, bookmarking his place and putting his book on his bedside table before gesturing him over.

          “Hey,” said Ian, slipping his bag off his shoulder and climbing on the bed, where he sat cross-legged across from Mickey. He bounced a little and added, “What are you up to?”

          “Apparently waiting to have my night in interrupted,” said Mickey with a bemused look. “Anything I can help you with, or did you come here just because?”

          “Neither,” said Ian, barely repressing his smile. “I came here because _I_ can help _you_.”

          “Is that so?” said Mickey, his usual cocky smirk firmly in place as he took in Ian’s excitement. “I don’t recall asking for your help with anything.”

          “Oh no?” Ian asked innocently. “So you haven’t put any thought into being my boyfriend yet, or…?”

          Mickey raised his eyebrows. “We just went over this less than a week ago. Have you gotten all that shit squared away already?”

          “Oh yeah.” Ian nodded eagerly. “Come on, you gotta admit I’m cutting it pretty damn close—break starts _tomorrow_.”

          “Saturday, technically,” Mickey corrected. “In all honesty, I kind of thought you forgot about all that shit.”

          Ian furrowed his brow. “Forget? Mickey, how the hell did you expect me to _forget_ about this? About you staying with me and everything?”

          Mickey just shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

          Ian shook off the ache in his chest at Mickey’s expression and said, “Well…okay. So anyway, basically, Karen’s moving to town, Mandy’s staying with Karen, and you’re staying with me. So all is well in the world.”

          Mickey snorted. “Mandy and Karen? Didn’t know you wanted your neighborhood in ruins.”

          Ian shrugged. “Small price to pay,” he said, grinning even harder than before when Mickey’s cheeks tinged slightly pink. “So, what do you say? Do you want to be my boyfriend or do you want to be my boyfriend?”

          “Your _fake_ boyfriend,” Mickey muttered. “I feel like you’re actually expecting me to take you out and shit.”

          “Oh, I do,” said Ian cheerily. “Don’t look like I kicked your dog, Jesus. It’s just fun, right?”

          Mickey threw him a distrustful glance. “Right,” he agreed carefully. “This whole mess is my exact textbook definition of fun.”

          Ian pressed his lips together, stopping himself from actively celebrating a hard-earned victory just yet. Instead, he leaned forwards.

          “So, you’re in?” he checked.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “I’m in,” he sighed, but it soon turned into a laugh when Ian started cheering and led a one-man victory lap around the room. Even when he snapped at Ian to sit back down, the harshness in his words reflected no real bite in his tone.

          “Sheesh, there’s no need to pretend not to love me now,” said Ian, flopping back on Mickey’s pillows while beside him, Mickey reclined back slower. “It’s obvious you’re incredibly attracted to me, all things considered.”

          “All things considered?”

          “Being my boyfriend and all,” answered Ian, smiling cheekily. “So, quit the act. Don’t pretend not to find me incredibly cute and endearing anymore, it’s not working.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Who’s pretending?”

          “We are,” he said cheerfully.

          When Mickey rolled his eyes, Ian turned onto his side and pressed close to Mickey, who only sighed and lifted his arm to drop it around Ian’s shoulders instead, making more room for him to get comfortable on the bed.

          “You’re a dork,” Mickey said, shaking his head.

          Ian grinned. He didn’t bother him any more than usual while Mickey retrieved his book and went back to reading, and stayed, too, until a little while later when Mickey put down his book, took off his glasses, and announced that he was going to bed.

          “Okay,” said Ian, getting up from the bed and starting to gather his bag back up so he could head down to his dorm. “See you tomorrow, _boyfriend_.”

          “Uh-huh,” said Mickey, sounding severely disenchanted with the entire idea already. “Goodnight.”

          Ian laughed and turned to go. Before he’d taken more than a few steps though, he changed his mind, and dropped his bag as he whirled around and drew Mickey into a tight, surprise hug. He froze in shock beneath Ian, but after a second, his arms came up and wrapped around Ian too. He squeezed back.

          “Thanks for this,” Mickey whispered, barely audible, by his ear.

          Ian hugged him even tighter. “I’m gonna be the best boyfriend of your life,” he whispered back.

          Without anything more, Ian drew away. He slung his bag over his shoulder again and headed for the door. Right before he left, he turned and caught a glimpse of Mickey, huddled under his blankets, eyed closed, with the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. Ian grinned the entire way down to his dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HAPPENING  
> [8)](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/post/132739263210)


	6. just a trial run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re not pretending at school,” Mickey reminded him.  
> “Oh, right.” Ian flushed a little, suddenly nervous. He swallowed a few times, trying to get a grip on himself and on his dry throat. No way Mickey would like what was coming. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually…”

          “Wanna practice?”

          “Practice _what_?”

          “Being boyfriends,” Ian said with a shrug.

          Mickey scoffed and scooted his chair a little further away, scraping the legs against the wood floor and earning a glare from the librarian stalking the shelves a little ways away.

          “We’re not pretending at school,” Mickey reminded him.

          “Oh, right.” Ian flushed a little, suddenly nervous. He swallowed a few times, trying to get a grip on himself and on his dry throat. No way Mickey would like what was coming. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually…”

          Predictably, Mickey’s head shot up as fast as it might if Ian had just informed him that all of his exam dates were moved up to tomorrow. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice was like venom when he spat, “ _Yes_?”

          Ian swallowed. “Uhm, so…I was thinking that we really have to sell it to Fiona, right? No way she lets you stay if she finds out we’re just friends, and especially if she finds out we’re lying, so…I just thought…”

          If Ian had thought that Mickey’s glare couldn’t burn any hotter, he had been dead wrong. Mickey looked ready to incinerate either one of them on the spot. Ian really hoped he didn’t pick him.

          “You just thought what?” Mickey asked dangerously.

          “Just thought we could…you know. Tell my brothers and sister now. Today, I mean. You know, we go home tomorrow, it’ll be easier if they knew already and believed us, and can kind of…you know, vouch for us.”

          “You want to act like boyfriends at school too?” Mickey said flatly. “Because this holiday break won’t be nearly enough time. No, fuck a month of this—let’s add another day.”

          Ian sighed, tapping his pen anxiously against the page of the textbook he wasn’t really reading. “Mickey…”

          “No, don’t. Just…” Mickey sighed, running a hand over his face unhappily. “Fuck. You really think this is necessary?”

          Ian stared at him, his nerves dropping away and that familiar frustration that he often felt around Mickey bubbling up in its place.

          “Well, I’m not trying to do it for my health,” he said coldly. “Yes—well, no. It’s probably not _necessary_ , but it would help us sell it. But I mean, if you’re gonna act like I’m begging for an organ…”

          “Ian—”

          “No, whatever,” Ian said shortly. “Forget it. This is for you, not me. So, whatever you want.”

          Mickey sighed. “Ian—”

          “It’s fine!” he insisted. “I’m not mad, seriously. Just drop it.”

          Mickey sighed. “Ian, would you just listen to me?” he said, sounding irritated but like he was trying (only moderately successfully) to remain patient.

          Ian hung his head in Mickey’s direction, disdainful and bored now. “What?”

          “If you think it’s a good idea, then fine.”

          Ian raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “Fine?”

          “Yes, fine,” Mickey said peevishly. “We’ll, you know, sell it at lunch or something. A lot of kids go home right after last class, so…”

          “Yeah?” Ian said, trying not to get too excited too quickly. “We can tell Lip and Debbie and Carl?”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Sure, man. Whatever you want.”

          “What _I_ want?” Ian covered his heart with his hand, feigning affront. “This is for _your_ good, Mick.”

          “Oh, like you’re not enjoying this?”

          Ian just looked at him. “Why in the hell would I be enjoying this?”

          Mickey snorted. “Because you find purpose in making my life as miserable as possible?” he suggested. “Because the more I squirm, the harder you laugh?”

          “Yeah, I’m practically twirling my handlebar mustache as I descend directly into Hell,” Ian said dryly.

          Mickey just gave him a look. “If there ever was anyone…”

          “Oh, shut up,” said Ian, picking up his notebook and smacking it into Mickey’s arm. Mickey flinched away, laughing all the while. Ian decided to push a little in retribution, and he smirked as he asked, “So, I assume pet names are completely off the table?”

          “Watch it,” Mickey said dangerously.

          Ian grinned. “Watch what, dear?” he asked, fully milking the innocent act now. Mickey’s glower intensified. “Sweetheart? Baby? What’s wrong, pumpkin, you look so— _ow_! Mickey!”

          “Yes, _sweetheart_?” Mickey asked, twirling his wand through his fingers while Ian rubbed furiously at his arm, which was now smarting angrily from Mickey’s stinging jinx.

          Ian snarled. “I’m so getting you back for this,” he warned.

          “Like that’s the only hex I know,” Mickey scoffed.

          Ian just made a face and let Mickey get back to the essay he was writing for his next class with no further comment about the revenge he fully intended on reaping. He was leaning over nosily, helping Mickey put the finishing touches on his conclusion, when Mickey glanced at his watch and said, “Shit! We’re gonna be late, let’s go.”

          He ushered Ian away from him and out of his chair, and they shoved their things into their bags and hastened out of the library. They barely made it two steps before Ian threw an arm out, halting them both.

          “What?” said Mickey, glancing around in confusion at the empty hallway around them.

          Ian held his hand out. Mickey just stared at it blankly, glancing between his hand and his face, so Ian wiggled his fingers a little. When met with still no reaction, Ian sighed.

          “Take it,” he insisted.

          Mickey’s eyebrows were reaching dangerous new heights that even Ian had yet to see before. Ian might have offered him to put his head in a snake’s mouth.

          “Come on,” he insisted. “Take my hand and walk me to class.”

          “How about _you_ walk _me_ to class,” Mickey revised, but in a tone that suggested he really meant that Ian could bite his ass for all he thought of the proposal.

          “Good idea,” said Ian, and before Mickey could react, Ian grabbed his hand and started off again down the corridor, now towing Mickey behind him. “You have Charms with Lip, right? Much better if he sees us together, it’s so much easier this way.”

          “Ian!” Mickey yelped, trying to tear his hand free. “Get off of me, you lunatic!”

          He yelled this right as they passed a line of fourth years, unfortunately, so Ian pulled him to a stop right next to the crowd of curious fourteen year olds. He forced a smile and tried not to glance too obviously at their audience as he spoke to Mickey through his teeth.

          “How about you just let me walk you to class, _baby_ ,” he said pointedly. “We’re already late.”

          He could see a few of the fourth years looking back at them, and it was for this reason, maybe, that although Mickey’s glare redoubled when Ian looked back at him, his fingers shifted to weave more naturally through Ian’s rather than complying with the death grip Ian had had on him.

          “Sure thing,” Mickey said, sounding for all the world like he wanted to see Ian’s head on his mantle. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

          Ian watched him in amusement before making a small, satisfied “ _hm_ ” sound and starting to walk with him again, side by side down the corridor.

          “Stop loving this,” Mickey snapped, low enough that only Ian could hear him even though the hallways were relatively sparse of people this close to the start of classtime anyway.

          “Well, you know what they say about me,” said Ian, rubbing an imaginary mustache between his thumb and forefinger.

          Mickey rolled his eyes, muttered, “C’mon, you idiot,” and kept pulling Ian along down the corridor. He was cooperating, though, which meant that he was pretty much sentenced to Ian’s smug pleasure regardless. They ascended the stairs and headed down towards Mickey’s classroom; the door was partially ajar, and Mickey pulled him to a stop just on the other side of it, where a few students could see them standing out in the corridor if they turned and craned their necks just so. Knowing the unquenchable, unflagging curiosity of their classmates, however, Ian was pretty much positive that they were definitely looking, or else would be soon.

          Mickey looked nervous when he turned to face Ian, fidgeting slightly and chewing on his bottom lip.

          “Well,” he said. He didn’t go on; he just kept biting insistently at his lip, so much so that Ian feared he would worry right through it if he didn’t leave soon. This entire situation was obviously making him uncomfortable, however necessary.

          Ian nodded jerkily. “Well,” he agreed. After a second of just staring at each other, Ian muttered, “Okay, fuck it,” and tugged Mickey’s hand, drawing him closer. He didn’t push too hard just yet, just slid his free hand around his head, into his hair, as he brought his lips chastely but firmly to Mickey’s cheek.

          “See you later,” he said, opting out of the pet names now that the time had actually come to insinuate something. Mickey looked ridiculously grateful.

          “See you,” he said, sounding somewhat off-balance, but he squeezed Ian’s hand so Ian knew he was going to be fine.

          Ian tipped him a wink as he withdrew his hand, and waved at him more normally once he was on the other side of the door, out of sight of any potential nosy classmates. Mickey’s expression was unreadable as he nodded and then slipped inside his classroom.

          Once he was gone, Ian let out a huge breath, unaware he’d been holding it until he let it out and felt remarkably lighter. On top of the relief was pride—pride in Mickey, mostly, for actually following through the plan, for being brave enough to act as Ian’s boyfriend and go along with it, for keeping himself safe. More than the looks he was going to get, more than the knowledge that he had just put himself directly in the center of the gossip mill (a place that, for nearly five years, he had been doing everything in his power to fervently avoid), it was that pride in Mickey that he carried around with him the rest of the day.

 

\- - -

 

          He had only a few hours of reprieve before the charade started up again. He’d managed to avoid the whispers while in class, where he at least had the pretense of work to use to ignore the pointed glances, but in the Great Hall nothing could be avoided. Ian considered skipping dinner but couldn’t leave Mickey in there alone should he decide to go, so he reluctantly headed down to the Great Hall and found a spot at his usual table.

          Across the Hall, he found Mickey’s eyes on him, watchful and urgent.

          After a brief but silent battle, Mickey hurried over to Ian’s table, keeping his head low like he was afraid someone was going to start shooting at him. He slid into place beside Ian, looking frantic.

          “I hate this,” he hissed immediately, turning his head to speak directly by Ian’s ear. “Everyone’s fucking talking about me. I hate this.”

          “You’d think they’d be smarter,” said Ian, but he was frowning sympathetically. “You could knock their heads together in a second. I’m surprised they’re brave enough to do anything that might piss you off.”

          “Yeah, well.” Mickey jiggled his knee nervously. “I can’t fucking stand it over there, everybody keeps fucking watching me.”

          “Sit here with me,” Ian said. He had very specifically chosen a seat at the end of the table, because he had known that Mickey would want some small measure of privacy now that they were the most recent talk of the school—even if, as of yet, it was still just speculation. “It’s okay, we got here early so you don’t have too many people to dodge. Besides, it’s a slow news day…someone will do something wild soon and we’ll be old news, promise.”

          Mickey nodded, but it was jerky and he still looked unsure. Ian desperately wanted to reassure Mickey that they were doing the right thing, because he could see his resolve slipping fast the more glances that were flung in their direction, but before he could continue on with his encouragement they were interrupted by the only person on the planet who could possibly make this situation worse.

          “Hey, Lip,” Ian called tiredly when he saw his brother walking over.

          Beside him, Mickey stiffened intensely. Ian slipped his hand beneath the table and wrapped it around Mickey’s again, this time in private reassurance. It was just for him, not to sell their story or encourage gossip, and Mickey seemed to relax a little under the gentle pressure. He squeezed Ian’s hand back hard enough to make him wince, except that he was trying to look like he was enjoying a simple meal with his boyfriend and so he forced himself to remain impassive.

          “Ian,” Lip said, nodding at him briefly before he turned his eyes on Mickey, attention honing in. Ian wanted to groan, wanted to warn his brother to back off just this once. Instead he just sat there, letting Mickey strangle his hand while Lip said stiffly, “Mickey,” and jerked his chin at him too.

          “Lip,” Mickey returned, just as icily. “The fuck are you doing over here? Get sick of the eggheads arguing over whether or not to finally outlaw pretentious douchebags once and for all?”

          Lip smiled tightly, his eyes narrowing.

          “Heard a funny rumor today,” he said, apparently intent on completely ignoring everything Mickey had to say on any other matter but this one. He rubbed his fingers against the threads on the scarf he had wrapped around his neck, looking disinterested, but Ian could tell he was desperate for answers. Logically speaking, Ian knew he and Mickey as a romantic _item_ just didn’t add up, and Lip had never been good with anything that couldn’t be solved with simple math.

          One plus one equals two. Ian plus Mickey never equaled relationship. Friendly duels, wrestling matches, getting piss drunk on a Tuesday— _that_ equaled Ian and Mickey. Hearts were hardly in the equation. Reluctantly, Ian could see his brother’s confusion, except he was a little more intent on protecting Mickey at the moment and didn’t really have time to sympathize.

          “Really? Huh,” said Ian. “I don’t really keep up with gossip, I guess.”

          That wasn’t even true, because between Mandy, Karen, and his own nosy curiosity, Ian got nothing _but_ gossip any time he wanted it. Regardless, however, he rubbed his thumb over the joint of Mickey’s and played dumb. He knew that that small action alone would hardly be sufficient in soothing him right now, but he had to do something; Mickey wouldn’t relax until they weren’t in the same room as Lip anymore. With him in eyesight, relaxation was not in question. Admittedly, though, he felt a little better just doing anything he could, and beside him, Mickey minutely unwound.

          “Heard you two are, uh, are an item now,” Lip said, watching them carefully. His eyes narrowed a bit when he added, just for Ian, “Actually, heard you two were getting cozy right outside my Charms class this morning.”

          Before Ian could answer, though, it was Mickey who spoke up.

          “You must be pretty far down the grapevine, Phillip,” he said, practically spitting the _p_. “Me and Ian got together a month ago.”

          Ian turned to stare at him, pretty blatantly confused. Mickey elbowed him in the side, the movement disguised as simply shifting in his seat, and Ian smoothed his expression into something less obvious. Luckily for him, Lip’s attention seemed to be trained on Mickey now; he looked floored by this pronouncement.

          “A _month_?” he asked, and just for a moment, his steady composure was lost. Ian couldn’t tell if he was more disapproving towards Mickey or pissed off that Ian had kept him in the dark for so long, he kept oscillating so quickly through the two emotions. Ian selfishly hoped his hostility landed on Mickey, because at least he was used to dealing with it. Ian knew that some part of Mickey even liked the fight. Whenever he himself fought with Lip, he usually just felt sick and upset, the world so drastically off-kilter.

          “Yep,” said Mickey, sounding amazingly steady with how dizzy Ian now felt. Mickey turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “What was it? A week before your birthday, week and a half?” he asked Ian, but he smoothed his thumb over Ian’s chin at the same time, and Ian kind of lost the thread of their conversation.

          “Yeah, think so,” he said finally, but he didn’t think he came off nearly as balanced as Mickey had, because Mickey shot him a look. Ian cleared his throat. “Uhm, yeah,” he amended lamely, looking up at Lip. “Beginning of November. Sorry, I thought you knew.”

          “Well, that’s…” Lip seemed to cast around for an appropriate word, one that wouldn’t be too blatantly disrespectful, and ultimately settled on, “ _Interesting_.”

          “Yes, we’re constantly intrigued,” Mickey drawled. “You mind going away now?”

          Ian smiled apologetically at his brother, and squeezed Mickey’s hand a little tighter under the table in reproach. “Sorry, Lip,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. “Mickey’s not a morning person.”

          “It’s six pm,” Lip said, furrowing his brow.

          Ian shrugged. “He’s not a night person either,” he said, and laughed when Mickey smacked at his arm.

          Lip just raised an eyebrow at them. “Right,” he said, drawing the word out lengthily. “So...How does this…I mean, why are you…What’s with the openness all of a sudden? I mean, you’re usually pretty heavyhanded on the PDA, but this is…”

          Lip waved his hand at them vaguely like that would cover it. Mickey watched him with unwavering disdain, but Ian just shrugged.

          “We’re just holding hands, Lip,” he pointed out.

          “Yeah, guess so.” He shifted his bag around on his shoulder, looking uncomfortable. “I guess I’m just not used to seeing this cuddly side of a Milkovich.”

          Because he could feel Mickey bristling beside him, Ian resisted letting his own teeth get set on edge by the lie. Everyone present knew that Mandy, for one, had gotten a little more than cuddly, and Lip had apparently found it equally unwelcome as he did in Mickey, if the starkly unpretty aftermath was any indication.

          “Yeah, well,” Ian said, somewhat tightly. “New leaves, or whatever.”

          “Right,” he said again. His gaze trailed over the pair of them once more. “So, all this shit just began and you’re already going separate ways for a few weeks, huh?”

          “Actually,” Ian said, those now-familiar nerves back in his stomach, “Mickey’s staying with us over break. Uhm, yeah. I haven’t asked Fiona yet, it was kind of a last minute change of plans, but…”

          Lip looked as though Ian had just turned his coffee into slime. “Okay,” he said, sounding like he very much did not find it okay.

          “Yeah, so you and I will be seeing a lot of each other,” said Mickey. The smile he wore was not friendly or inviting, and Lip returned a similarly sour version of it back at him.

          “Can’t wait,” he said, still watching them contemptuously. After a second, he made a little dismissive sound in his throat and then turned back to Ian and added, much more friendly than he’d so far been, “Hey, so Cassie just got in a new shipment of those memory leaves you like, you want some?”

          “Oh yeah, my usual case,” said Ian, startling a little at the change of pace. He finally withdrew his hand from Mickey’s to pat down his pockets. “Shoot, I’m out of silver. Can I pay you tomorrow?”

          “Sure thing,” said Lip. “I’ll give you the stuff on the train too. And hey, between you and me, this stuff’s a little weaker than last time, so chew two at a time instead of one.”

          “I’m paying half.”

          “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow.”

          “See ya,” said Ian. Beside him, Mickey raised his hand in the least enthusiastic wave ever performed, and Lip just nodded at him before walking off. Once he was gone, Ian sighed, slumping back in his seat.

          “Jesus, you’re so fucking wound up about everything,” said Mickey. “Can you chill out about _anything_? Ever? He was just being a dick. Nothing new.”

          “Yeah, well I didn’t see you being best buds with him either,” Ian snapped.

          “Fuck you,” Mickey said easily. “You can’t get your ass all twisted up every time someone’s shitty about us. You’ll never chill out. Shit, you don’t chill out now, so I guess there’s no difference. But still.”

          Ian ignored the lecture and glared at him. “Why’d you tell him we’ve been dating a month?” he demanded instead.

          “Oh, that,” said Mickey, waving him off. “Figured it’d be suspicious if we just got together, right? Isn’t the whole point of this to convince your family it’s for real? So, yeah. A month seemed suitable for spending Christmas break with you and the whole crew.”

          “I guess…”

          “Sheesh, it was your idea.” Mickey sounded annoyed. “If you don’t wanna—”

          “No, no, a month is good,” Ian assured him. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it. Actually, we should probably figure out some other details too.”

          Mickey stared at him guardedly. “Other details?”

          “Yeah, you know.” The stress of lying to his brother and faking it with Mickey finally wearing off a little, Ian finally picked his fork back up and started eating. Around a mouthful, he went on, “You know, where we got together, what happened when we did. All that start of relationship stuff people always ask about.”

          “Who the fuck asks about that shit?”

          “All the bored old ladies in my neighborhood,” said Ian.

          “Wait, we’re coming out to your entire neighborhood?”

          That familiar panic was creeping back into Mickey’s voice, and Ian rushed to reassure him.

          “It’s fine! They already know I’m gay. It won’t be a big deal. I mean, as long as we’re not, like, dry humping on storefronts, we’re good with a little PDA. My neighborhood isn’t exactly friendly but they’re all just cowards, they’ll be too scared of us to say anything since they know I can beat them all in a fight and you look…well anyway. Actually, a little PDA will probably be good. Fi knows I’m not very subtle.”

          “No shit,” Mickey scoffed lowly. Ian had a feeling his annoyance wasn’t really with his romanticism and decided to let it go. A second later his guard fell a bit, and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “So, I guess we’re…you know. Really doing this, huh?”

          Ian could only offer him a small smile. “Yeah. Guess we really are.”

 

          The rest of dinner was easier. They sat close enough that Ian could feel their thighs brush every time one of them shifted in their seat, but other than that nothing was too different; they chatted while they ate, safely back on more comfortable subjects, and didn’t really have the opportunity for more public indicators of a relationship while they were busy eating. Of course, there were whispers—people around them had heard their conversation with Lip, and word got around Hogwarts fast enough to give Ian whiplash—but Mickey practically threw Ian out of his seat as soon as they were done eating so he didn’t have to deal with them that long. Ian grabbed his hand at the last second and linked their fingers together, ignoring the glare Mickey threw over his shoulder at him as he hustled them out of the Great Hall together.

          Once in the entrance hall, Ian pulled them to a stop, and Mickey unlocked their fingers to lean against the wall beside the doors.

          “So,” Ian said, sounding breathy even to his own ears. “Everybody thinks we’re a couple. Mission…accomplished.”

          Mickey groaned and covered his face with his hands. His voice came out a little muffled when he said, “No shit. When do we catch the train again?”

          “Tomorrow,” Ian said apologetically. “Don’t worry though. Only other people we have to navigate is Debbie and Carl, and they’ll be more curious than judgmental.”

          “Fantastic,” Mickey sighed, dropping his arms back to his sides with a slap. “Come on, let’s go back to the dorms. Who do you think is less likely to get all up in our business?”

          “The Slytherins,” Ian said decisively.

          He jerked his head towards the stairs leading down to the dungeons, and Mickey sighed again but followed him as he headed that way. They passed a few students on the way, but they were mostly younger, and Mickey’s snarl made it very clear what would happen to those who asked questions.

          “We’re lucky you’ve had years to perfect that bitchface, Mick,” said Ian, fighting down laughter as he watched Mickey practically growl at a second year girl and her friend. “At this rate people will be too scared to so much as talk to me in case my big bad boyfriend slides out of the woodwork to hex their ass.”

          Mickey snorted, dropping his guard as the kids scurried away. “Yeah. Lucky you.”

          Ian elbowed him playfully and grinned, undeterred by the lack of response that met him. He gave the password to the dungeons and they ducked through, heading straight past the nearly empty common room and up into Ian’s dormitory. Other than one of his classmates, Nick, who was reading in the bed across the room, the place was empty, and Ian was sure that at least two of them had gone home already. They were lucky; Mickey was much more likely to get itchy with his wand hand if the room was as rowdy as it usually was with six teenage boys crammed inside it, but they were safe for now.

          Ian puttered around at first; most of his belongings were already packed away, but he changed into some pajamas that he had left out and chucked his robes in his trunk. When he was done, Mickey was already settled on his bed, chewing on a nail.

          “Alright there?” Ian asked, amused.

          Mickey just raised an eyebrow at him. “Thrilled,” he returned tonelessly.

          Ian grinned and threw himself on the bed, bouncing a little as he settled. Mickey watched him blankly. Rolling his eyes, Ian shut the curtains and cast _Muffliato_ around them to block their conversation from his housemate, then threw his wand down on the bedside table.

          “Okay?” he said, moving closer. He kept his eyes on Mickey, wondering if he was going to bolt, but Mickey just kept staring at him while he crawled up the bed and flopped down on his side next to him.

          “He probably thinks we’re having sex or something,” he said, pointing at Ian’s curtain in the approximate direction of his roommate.

          Ian laughed. “So?”

          “So nothing.” Mickey shrugged. “Just wasn’t sure how far we were taking this.”

          Ian snorted. “Well, I did the _Muffliato_ spell so it’s not like we have to make the bedsprings squeak or anything. He wouldn’t hear it either way.”

          “Okay.” Mickey looked away again.

          “But I mean,” Ian went on, “we’d probably be having sex, right?”

          “What?”

          “Like, if we were together,” he clarified. “I’m kinda known for my sexcapades, and it’s not like you’re exactly a virgin. So I mean, people probably expect us to be having sex.”

          “Ian, I’m not having sex with you,” Mickey said, looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

          Ian slapped at his arm. “Shut up, asshole. I’m not propositioning you, Jesus. I’m just saying, we might have to fake that part a little.”

          Mickey crossed his arms. “You just said he couldn’t hear anything anyway.”

          “No, but I mean—” Ian gestured pointlessly with his hands. “We have to fake it, you know? Come out with messy hair and wrongly buttoned robes and shit. No one’s gonna buy that we of all people are waiting until marriage to get our hands on each other.”

          Mickey snorted and tipped his head back against the wall behind his bed. “No, I guess not.” He sighed again. “I guess I’m not getting out of this bed without at least faking an orgasm or something?”

          “Shut up,” Ian said again, laughing this time. “I just said you don’t have to fake anything.”

          Mickey grinned. “Except this relationship,” he pointed out. “What are you saying though? You don’t want to fake a cum stain on my robes?”

          “Mickey!”

          “Get the red-cheeked afterglow thing going on? Come on, slap me or something, Gallagher, get some color in my cheeks. Make it look like you really gave it to me.”

          “I so fucking hate you,” Ian laughed, now hitting his shoulder repeatedly the longer he went on. “I’m gonna kill you before I ever fuck you!”

          “I just want to fake a cum stain!” Mickey shouted, grabbing his wrists to stop the onslaught. “Where’s my cum stain, Ian!”

          “I hate you!” Ian yelled back.

          Mickey wrestled him onto his back, laughing wildly. Ian kicked desperately at him but Mickey slung his knees over Ian’s hips, sitting back and keeping him firmly in place on the bed.

          “I’m going to kill you!”

          “I just want a cum stain! Ian!”

          Ian kicked harder, struggling against his hold, until he finally got one arm free and he shoved Mickey off of him. Mickey fell to the side, landing on his back and still laughing.

          “Shithead,” Ian muttered, elbowing him in the ribs. “At least you got that color in your cheeks you wanted.”

          Mickey gave another huff of laughter, barely audible, but Ian could tell that he was pleased with himself. The thought had him rolling his eyes, albeit fondly. At least Mickey seemed to be loosening up to this entire plan.

          “Yeah,” Mickey agreed. He reached over suddenly to muss Ian’s hair, ignoring it when Ian batted at him to stop. “See? Now you’ve got sex hair. So we’re both playing our parts.”

          “I feel like we’re fucking already,” Ian said dryly.

          They just lay there for a minute or two, catching their breaths. Mickey sat up first, and he slapped a hand down on Ian’s stomach, not very hard but enough that Ian exhaled sharply.

          “Come on,” said Mickey. “We’ll go find your other siblings, get that over with, and then you can walk me to my dorm like the boyfriend you’ve always aspired to be.”

          Ian flung his arms out, splaying more comfortably on the bed. “More like the boyfriend you’ve always aspired to have,” he snarked back.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “I can walk myself home just fine,” he said. “But this is your show, you’re running it.”

          “How is this my show?”

          “Because,” said Mickey, swinging his legs off the bed and making the mattress bounce, ignoring how Ian groaned and tossed his arm over his face, “you promised you’d do all the work selling the story. So, let’s go. Time to test your sales pitch.”

          “You’re the most annoying prop I’ve ever worked with,” Ian said. Mickey just scoffed and threw the curtains open, so, with a groan, Ian got up too and stuck his wand into his pajama bottom’s pocket so he could follow Mickey out. Right before they closed the door, however, Ian’s roommate piped up.

          “Please don’t ever have sex again while I’m in the room,” he called.

          “Feel free to join,” Ian returned jovially, while Mickey flipped him off and said, “You can fuck off whenever you want, douchebag.”

          “I’m just saying,” Nick insisted, “I’m kind of worried about you two. I mean, how long was that? Five minutes? I’m sincerely worried that one of you isn’t getting satisfied to the extent that he should be.”

          Mickey was beet red now, and glowering furiously at Ian’s roommate. “We’re fine!” he retorted. “Our sex life is _fine_ and none of your business!”

          “Unless you want to join in,” Ian offered again.

          “I’m only looking out for you! Or you, I don’t know who does what.”

          “You could find out,” said Ian, smirking.

          Mickey was looking murderous, so Ian grinned and grabbed Mickey’s shoulder to shove him out of the room ahead of him, and he waggled his fingers at an amused-looking Nick before slamming the door shut and following Mickey down into the common room.

          As they cleared the stairs up into the entrance hall, Ian was just about to stop Mickey and ask if he wanted to seek out his brother and sister or just wait until they stumbled across them on the train the next day when the decision was taken out of his hands, and Carl, Debbie, and Carl’s girlfriend Bonnie came out of the Great Hall together. They all stopped and looked at each other.

          Carl moved first, which did nothing but send icy dread directly into the pit of Ian’s stomach. Granted he didn’t know Bonnie that well, but he could virtually guarantee that out of everyone staring at each other in that moment, Carl was still the most likely to make the situation twenty times worse as soon as he opened his mouth.

          But surprisingly, his fears were somewhat assuaged, because he opened relatively innocently with, “So, are you two dating?”

          Ian could feel Mickey tensing up beside him again and resisted the urge to glance reassuringly at him as he said, as calmly as he could, “Yeah, Carl, we are.”

          “So you’re _dating_?” he checked. “Like, going out together and kissing and stuff? You’re not just friends who are, like, fucking too?”

          “God damn it, Carl,” Debbie piped up, taking the words from Ian’s mouth even as he decided not to say them.

          Mickey was staring at Carl like he was some kind of horrible insect and didn’t seem likely to unfreeze anytime soon, so Ian took the initiative and slung his arm around Mickey’s shoulders, pulling him close.

          “Yeah, Carl,” he said patiently. “We’re going out together and kissing and stuff.”

          “Huh,” he said, and then fell silent again, studying them curiously. After a second, Bonnie stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear, and whatever it was made Carl’s forehead crinkle even more as he tilted his head to the side, apparently getting a different angle on them.

          “Well, I think it’s great,” said Debbie before Carl could voice whatever seemed to be troubling him. She was smiling brightly and a bouncing a little on her feet, the perfect picture of sweetness. Ian could tell that Mickey, despite having very little to do with his family before, found her distasteful in every conceivable way—at least this saccharine version of her. Ian thought Mickey might like Debbie if he ever saw her angry. God, he really hoped they never teamed up together. Someone would probably die.

          “You do?” Ian asked.

          Debbie grinned. “Of course! We’ve been waiting for this, like, _forever_! It just makes so much sense!”

          “Wait, you’ve—what?”

          “It’s been a long time coming, bro,” Carl said, nodding.

          “I barely know you,” added Bonnie, “but from what I’ve seen I always expected you two to get together, ever since I met you guys.”

          “What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Mickey, a little overly defensively in Ian’s opinion. He squeezed him a little harder, a silent plea to play it cooler than this.

          Carl shrugged, and Debbie gestured between them and said, “Just, you know, the two of you! We all sort of saw it coming.”

          Ian glanced at them all. He almost dropped his arm from Mickey’s shoulders if he hadn’t chosen that moment to slide his own around Ian’s waist, steadying him.

          “You…all think—thought—that we’d get together?”

          “Since you were thirteen,” Debbie said, and only her expression was apologetic when it pinched up.

          “And you’ve talked about this?” Ian asked. He felt thrown off, defensive, and just a touch unhappy. He knew his family always talked about each other, mostly praise and reminders and worried suggestions that they look out for each other, but Ian was so rarely the object of their attentions that he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to be taking this news.

          “I mean, not constantly,” Carl assured him with a shrug. “It’s not like we just sit around wondering who you’re sleeping with right now or whatever. It’s just—”

          “It’s you and _Mickey_ ,” Debbie broke in. “We just sort of always assumed. Actually, we assumed awhile ago. You’re sure this is recent?”

          “Yes, I’m—what the hell, guys!”

          “Sorry, sorry,” Debbie said hastily, raising her hands placatingly. “I’m just—shocked, is all. The probability of you guys getting together seemed higher than that, I expected it to happen so much sooner than this.”

          Mickey found his voice then, just in time to ask, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

          “Nothing,” Debbie said innocently. “Just surprised, that’s all.”

          “Yeah, I’m surprised too,” said Carl. “That you lasted this long without each other, we mean.” Then to Debbie, he added, “We should have made a pool.”

          “We could make a breakup pool,” Bonnie suggested.

          “I call never,” Debbie said immediately.

          “How can you call never?” asked Carl. “There’s no way to measure that!”

          “Sure there is. At the wedding.”

          “Well, I want two years,” said Bonnie.

          “Would you stop it?” Ian snapped. “We are not breaking up!”

          The younger kids all just looked at him impassively for a second before turning to share a glance with each other. When they turned back to him, they all wore similarly apologetic expressions that Ian didn’t believe for a second. Then Debbie said,

          “Sorry, Ian. Bonnie? Carl? Want to take this up to my common room?”

          “I want to be treasurer,” said Bonnie.

          Carl took Bonnie’s hand as they all started to walk away bickering about their bets. Debbie at least waved goodbye for a second, but quickly returned to her conversation before they even reached the stairs. Once they were gone, Ian finally dropped his arm from around Mickey’s shoulders and turned to face him.

          “What the hell was that?” he asked, too stunned to properly feel anything about it yet. He thought that maybe he should be mad, but he wasn’t quite there yet.

          Mickey seemed to have finally unfrozen, but he was scuffing his shoes against the stone floor and wasn’t looking at Ian. Ian ducked down, trying to get a clearer look at his face and thus a better read on him, but Mickey was pretty determinedly avoiding his gaze.

          Finally, he said, “Man, pissing off Lip is one thing, but this is getting weird.”

          “Weird?” Ian asked cautiously.

          “Yeah, weird,” he said. He finally looked up at Ian then, and his forehead was all pinched together, but he didn’t seem angry or upset. “Like, what was that all about? All that ‘ _long time coming_ ’ crap?”

          Ian just shrugged. He felt more than little helpless.

          “If you’re taking Carl’s opinion to heart, you might be the problem,” said Ian, offering Mickey a small smile.

          Mickey snorted at that, but then he rubbed at his forehead. He looked confused and tired, which pretty much summed up how Ian felt, but also cagey and unsure exactly where to focus. Ian kept trying to catch a look at him, a real one, but Mickey’s focus kept bouncing all over and he couldn’t catch his eye for more than a second or two at a time. Finally, he looked up directly at Ian, but even then he just said, “Bed?”

          “Sure,” Ian agreed automatically if not guardedly, “Bed.”

          He draped his arm back over Mickey’s shoulders in case they ran into someone else they knew and walked him the rest of the way to the Hufflepuff basement, stopping right outside the entrance, which was really just a collection of barrels that needed to be tapped just so to allow entrance. They said goodnight, both quieter than usual, but Ian figured the full of weight what they were doing was settling in on Mickey as well and left him be, consumed by his own thoughts. All the way back down to the Slytherin dungeons and up to his dormitory he couldn’t stop thinking about it too, about all the things they still had to fake, about the even greater number of things they needed to figure out. In the back of his mind was the tiny but insistent reminder of his conversation with Debbie, Carl, and Bonnie. At least they were convinced of the act. So far, three siblings down, and that thought at last comforted Ian enough to sleep.

 

\- - -

 

          The train was loud, full of bustling and energetic students all excited to head home. Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrist as they plunged into the crowd and pulled him along until they found the carriage that had been commandeered by Mandy and Karen already, and he stopped him just outside.

          “Remember,” said Ian, sliding his hand down to clasp it with Mickey’s, “Karen’s in there.”

          “So?” asked Mickey. He glanced down at their joined hands with a mixture of discomfort and bemusement.

          “So she thinks this is real,” Ian reminded him testily. Then he split into a grin and waggled his eyebrows at him, and announced, “Showtime.”

          Mickey just stared at him with his brows arched, so Ian squeezed his hand and restrained a snicker as he slid open the compartment door and tugged Mickey in behind him.

          Mandy laughed as soon as she saw them together, because she was about as subtle as a brick. Ian resisted conjuring one to throw at her and settled for shooting her a glare before turning to Karen, who was busy trying to paint her nails before the train started moving, and who mercifully wasn’t looking at them.

          “So,” said Mandy, still grinning slyly at the pair of them, “what’ve you two been up to?”

          “Nothing,” said Mickey, glaring outright at his sister.

          “Yeah, just been…around,” Ian said lamely. “You?”

          “Just enjoying the show,” Mandy said, snickering when both of them shot her identical nasty looks at that.

          Ian turned away from her finally. “Karen, what’s up with you?”

          “Who, me?” she asked, sounding annoyed. He stared at her. “I’m surprised you noticed me, I seem to be completely slipping your mind these days!”

          “Karen…What are you talking about? I just talked to you yesterday morning.”

          She looked up at him finally, but her eyes narrowed and the color high was in her cheeks, and Ian knew he was in trouble.

          “How could you not tell me you and Mickey got together?” she accused. “I had to hear it from Chase Auburns of all people, I almost blew him the fuck up just on principle!”

          “You’re not supposed to shoot the messenger, Karen,” said Mandy, rolling her eyes.

          “We’re supposed to be best friends!” Karen said, all her animosity busy being too focused on Ian to pay Mandy’s teasing much mind.

          Ian spread his free hand helplessly. “Karen, I just—”

          But he was interrupted by Mandy saying, “Woah, Ian’s _my_ best friend. Ian?”

          “Yeah, _Ian_ ,” said Mickey, and he was the only one smiling now, despite Ian turning to glower. “Who’s your best friend? I thought it was me!”

          “Don’t encourage this,” Ian snapped. “And you’re my boyfriend, so you forfeit all rights to the best friend title.”

          The mention of the word _boyfriend_ momentarily striking him silent, Ian took the opportunity to turn to the girls’ frustrated faces instead.

          “Can we focus, please?” he entreated. “Karen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It just happened—”

          “Just happened? What just happened, I hear this is like, a month old! So fuck you!”

          “It’s just sort of been building, for awhile now I mean. I didn’t know exactly what was what and we just figured out what we were, you know, we just started using the boyfriend title, and…I don’t know, I always meant to tell you, I don’t know how it didn’t come up—”

          “I should have been top of the list there, Gallagher,” she snarled. “As soon as it first happened. As soon as _anything_ first happened. Feelings, kissing—whatever!”

          “I know—”

          She pinned him with a fierce scowl, and he shut up instantly. Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and abruptly went back to painting her nails.

          “Karen,” he sighed. She acted like she hadn’t heard him. “Oh, Karen, come on. You can’t freeze me out; we’re sharing a compartment.”

          Karen said nothing. Ian sighed and turned to Mandy, but she still looked a little scandalized at the idea that she wasn’t his best friend and she offered no help. Ian turned to Mickey instead. Mickey just shrugged, still looking amused.

          Karen was still acting like Ian and Mickey both didn’t exist when the train finally rumbled to life and started moving. She thawed a bit when the cart came around, two hours later, and Ian offered to buy her lunch. She kept shooting glares at him over the top of her sandwich, but she at least answered when he talked to her now, which was something of an improvement. Ian would take it for now.

          Mickey had taken up residence in the corner of their seat, his back pressed up against the wall so he still faced the rest of them, and when Ian was done eating he scooted over towards him. Mickey was watching him guardedly, maybe even more so when Ian pushed one of his legs off the seat and shifted around to sit between them. He heard him sigh at least twice but ignored him, settling his back against Mickey’s chest and laying back on him.

          “I ate too much,” Ian complained.

          “Who told you to?” Mickey said mildly.

          Ian tilted his head up to glare at him. With yet another sigh, Mickey slid his arms under Ian’s and clasped them around his torso, keeping him trapped against him now. Ian smiled satisfactorily and shifted around to get comfortable. When he turned back, the girls were watching them in amusement.

          “Don’t you two just make the cutest couple?” said Mandy, clasping her hand over her heart.

          Mickey flipped her off, but Ian just laughed, draping his arms on top of Mickey’s legs. One of his hands landed on his knee, and he started to rub there gently with his thumb, cooling him off yet again.

          “She’s not wrong,” said Karen, and Ian’s lips parted at her unexpected comment. “I guess I didn’t really see it before, like _before_ , but now that I’m _seeing_ it…”

          She looked at them pointedly. Ian stared at her in askance.

          “Do you plan on making sense any time soon?” he asked finally.

          Karen shrugged. “Just saying. She’s right. It’s not a bad picture. I mean, I guess.”

          She swiftly settled back into the scowl she had been insistently using on them. Ian resisted the urge to look up at Mickey again, even though he knew that he was probably staring at Karen, either looking to murder her or else horrified into silence. He rubbed at his knee a little more deliberately, still trying to soothe. At a loss for what to say himself, Ian just offered her a small smile. When he received one in return, he recognized that she was forgiving him just a little bit more, for not telling her earlier, or first, or himself, or whatever she had wanted from him. He would probably have to get her laid or something to truly earn her forgiveness; he made a mental note to take her out to a bar sometime this week.

          The rest of the ride was easier. They ate their way through the candy they bought together as dessert, and Mickey let Ian lay on him for a full hour before discretely prodding him away. When Ian left to pick up his memory leaves from Lip, he came back to Karen pestering Mickey with questions, and Mickey hadn’t even spilled their secret yet but was instead (impatiently) answering her queries, albeit in grunts and monosyllables. All in all, Ian considered the whole thing a success right up until the train rolled to a gradual stop inside the station and Ian remembered that this wasn’t the actual test, just a trial run.

          The four of them got up and started pulling their bags down and changing into their Muggle street clothes, giving the rest of the train time to uncrowd a little bit before they get off so they wouldn’t be caught in the worst of it.  Once they were done, they grabbed their bags and Ian followed Mandy and Karen off the train, Mickey trailing behind him.

          Once they got off the train, Mandy immediately pulled Ian into a hug.

          “Gotta go,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

          “What, already?” he asked, automatically hugging her back. “I thought we could all get lunch or something.”

          Mandy grimaced as they pulled away from each other. “I know, but we have to meet Karen’s mom in twenty minutes and we’re already running late. I’d love to stay and see the show, though.”

          At the look that Ian shot her, Mandy jerked her head to the side. When Ian turned, he saw Fiona, with Liam settled on her hip, waving at him over the heads of the crowd separating them.

          “Oh, god,” said Ian. This time around, Mandy’s smile was sympathetic.

          “Good luck,” she said, and pulled him in for one last hug before she released him to Karen, who was sharing an awkward fist bump with Mickey.

          “Let’s never do that again,” said Karen.

          “Yeah, pretty much,” Mickey agreed.

          Karen wrapped Ian into a hug next, shorter than Mandy’s had been.

          “I’ll see you later, okay? I want all the family drama details. You owe me.”

          “Of course,” Ian promised. “Let’s get dinner or something tomorrow, my treat. Okay?”

          Karen smiled. “You have a lot to make up for, Gallagher. Dinner won’t cut it.”

          “Dinner and wingmanning?”

          “Now you’re talking.”

          Mandy finished hugging her brother goodbye and, with promises to see them both later, the girls waved and plunged off into the crowd. They were quickly drawn away from them. Ian turned his attention back towards where he had seen his sister earlier, but she was gone. After a few seconds’ search, he found her, now with Debbie and Carl in tow, heading directly towards him. Mickey inhaled sharply and Ian turned to see he had followed his gaze.

          “Ready?” Ian asked.

          He felt Mickey slip his hand back into Ian’s.

          “No,” he admitted. “I fucking hate this.”

          Ian grinned and leaned over to kiss Mickey’s cheek. When he pulled away, he saw Mickey smiling forcibly, still staring straight ahead at where Ian knew his family was fast approaching. Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand and turned to face his siblings. He took a deep breath.

          “Hey, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [xoxox](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/post/133136894530)


	7. homeland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re happy, aren’t you?” Fiona asked, squinting at him a little as though that would help her better suss out his level of sincerity.  
> Ian wasn’t even faking or embellishing when he glanced behind him at Mickey and then smiled up at his sister. At that moment, he didn’t feel much else besides deep-rooted contentment, and he was sure that they both knew the cause.  
> “I’m really happy,” he promised.

          Fiona wasn’t happy about Mickey staying with them on such short notice, which didn’t come as any kind of surprise to Ian. After hugging Ian hello and corralling Lip to join their group, Ian briefly explained that his boyfriend was staying with them over break and Fiona just said, “We’ll talk,” and swept them all out of the station.

          The back of the van was uncomfortable, though not for lack of space. With Fiona up front driving and Debbie having claimed the passenger seat, Ian was crowded into the seatless back with Carl, Lip, and Mickey, with Liam on his lap and both his youngest and older brother staring at Mickey. Carl had his head out the window and was waving at everyone they passed walking a dog, but Lip evidently had more important things to focus his attention on.

          “So, Mickey,” he said almost before they had turned out of the parking lot.

          “Lip,” he returned stiffly.

          Ian glanced nervously between them but neither was looking at him. He could feel Fiona’s eyes on them all in the rearview mirror.

          “You’re really coming back to our place for the holidays, huh?”

          “Looks like it,” Mickey said, affecting a bored tone that Ian could tell masked his annoyance.

          Something about Lip always made Mickey even tetchier than usual. Ian wasn’t really in the mood to get in between them at the moment, but he would if necessary. Luckily Liam chose that moment to start tugging on the collar of his shirt, and Ian looked down, glad for the distraction as he started playing with his younger brother. He tickled at his sides; Liam giggled.

          Beside him, Lip and Mickey were still having their non-argument.

          “Hm,” said Lip, in his deliberately cryptic tone that always made Ian’s blood boil just a little.

          Mickey heaved a sigh. “Hm _what_?”

          “We just don’t have a ton of room.”

          “You had plenty of room when you were bringing your fuckbuddy around in fifth year,” Mickey said.

          Up front, Debbie snorted a laugh. Ian peeked to the side to see Mickey smirking, pleased, in the direction of her seat. Ian smiled a little to himself, though it was quickly erased when Lip reached up and thwacked him upside the head.

          “Ow! What the fuck?”

          “Why are you tattling to your boyfriend about me?” Lip asked irritably.

          “Don’t touch him,” Mickey said, suddenly much sharper than before.

          Lip sneered, but he otherwise ignored him. “Well?”

          “We were best friends for almost five years first,” Ian reminded him. “Best friends, I don’t know, _talk_ sometimes. Might be an interesting concept to you, who usually just gets high and fights with _his_ friends. You should try it.”

          “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil.”

          “Anytime.”

          “Alright, that’s enough,” Fiona called from up front. “I don’t want any more fighting back there. We can all talk when we get home. I fibbed another drug test and got more free casserole, so we can have a good sit down dinner for your first night back. Sound fun?”

          “Hell yeah,” said Carl.

          “I love Amy’s casseroles,” said Debbie. “She really layers her cheeses, it’s amazing. You should pee for her all the time.”

          Fiona smiled at her. Mickey rolled his eyes.

          “Can’t wait,” Mickey muttered.

          “Hey!” Fiona barked back, glaring in the rearview mirror. “No sass, and that goes for you too, Mickey. Can we get through one car ride where everyone’s fucking civil?”

          “No,” they all chorused back. Fiona just sighed and scrounged her wand out of the glove compartment and set about tapping it on the dash above the radio, searching for a good station.

          They lapsed into a mildly tolerating silence as they headed back towards the house.  Since Fiona hadn’t put the seats up in the back, they were without seatbelts and so they kept jostling into each other with every bump and swerve of the car. Liam was giggling, clearly enjoying the unconventional ride, but after five minutes or so of him shouting, “Go over more bumps, Fiona!” and begging her to drive faster, Ian handed Liam over to Debbie in the passenger seat so that he could get tucked into her seatbelt with her. It wasn’t _safe_ , exactly, but it was better than the back. Ian could already feel a bruise forming from where Mickey’s elbow kept jabbing into him every time Fiona turned too sharply.

          “Okay, _ow_ ,” Ian complained when it happened yet again. “Move. Move your arm, Mickey! It fucking hurts.”

          “There’s nowhere to move my arm,” Mickey hissed. “I’m shoved up against the door. Can we move?”

          He jerked his head towards the unoccupied row behind them.

          “There’s nowhere to hold on further back,” Ian said. “That’s technically the trunk.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Just come on.”                                           

          He grabbed Ian’s arm and tugged on him until he joined the strange, careful crawl Mickey was doing as they tried to cautiously shuffle into the row behind his brothers. They managed it somehow unscathed. Lip let out a sigh of relief, rotating the cramp out of his wrist. Ian stretched his arm over his chest.

          “Not bad, right?”

          “Not bad,” Ian admitted, smiling in the face of Mickey’s smug grin.

          “Don’t start making out now that you’ve got the room,” Carl said, breaking them out of their shared gaze as they turned to him instead.

          “We’re not,” Mickey said, looking just a touch too scandalized.

          “Yeah, Mickey hates PDA,” said Ian, glancing sideways at him.

          Mickey cleared his throat and nodded. Carl was still looking at them; Ian pressed his shoulder more tightly to Mickey’s and stared back until Carl shrugged and turned away again. Ian glanced at Mickey instead.

          “My bad,” he muttered.

          “And _I_ need to chill out?” Ian retorted. Mickey grimaced.

          As they trundled on towards home, Ian found himself nodding off after awhile. He shuffled down a little and laid his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

          “What are you doing?” Mickey asked. He started squeezing his arm back between Ian and the trunk door, though, so Ian arched his back to make room for Mickey to curl his arm around his shoulders.

          “Taking a nap,” Ian said, shuffling back into position once Mickey was settled. Mickey’s shoulder cushioned his cheek perfectly. Ian’s hand was wedged between their legs and he gratefully rubbed his thumb against the side of Mickey’s thigh, clothed thickly in jeans. “You mind?”

          Mickey didn’t answer for a second. Then he said, “Yeah—uhm, yeah, no, that’s fine.”

          “Okay.”

          Ian closed his eyes. For awhile, he could feel Mickey arm around him, tightening and loosening as they passed over bumps and potholes and curves in the road, evidently trying to keep him steady, but eventually his consciousness loosened and softened—he could hear the horns outside the window and feel Mickey breathing—and then he slipped gradually into sleep.

          He wasn’t asleep long enough to dream. When he came to, his first realization was that he was completely still. His second was that he was warm, and then that everything was quiet. Slowly, Ian opened his eyes.

          The car was empty except for Mickey, still curled around him. As Ian stiffened and woke, Mickey shifted with him, reclaiming his arm first. When Ian looked up at him, Mickey was already watching him.

          “Morning.”

          Ian rubbed at one eye and pushed himself to a fully seated position with the other. He mumbled back, “Morning. Where is everyone?”

          “Picking up fast food,” said Mickey, jerking his chin out the window. Ian glanced out to see they were parked right beside a run-down looking building. He looked back at Mickey, who shrugged. “They didn’t want to wake you. I said I’d stay with you.”

          “Oh.” Ian yawned. “Thanks, I guess.”

          “No problem.”

          Mickey looked out the window beside them and didn’t say anything more. Ian _hmm_ ed.

          “Has Fiona started vetting you yet?” he asked.

          Mickey turned back to him. “What?”

          “While I was sleeping,” Ian explained, “did Fiona ask you a bunch of shit, try and figure out if you were good enough for me and everything?”

          “Fiona’s met me before,” Mickey pointed out. “Ian, your entire family’s known me for years.”

          “Yeah, but now you’re my _boyfriend_ ,” Ian said, adopting just the slightest teasing tone. “It’s a whole different ballgame now.”

          Mickey stared at him for a second before he seemed to realize Ian was being serious. Then all he said was, “Your family’s weird,” and he resettled against the back door.

          “ _My_ family’s weird? Why, because they want to make sure I’m seeing someone who’s not a complete asshole?”

          “Yes!” Mickey said, nodding vigorously. “It ain’t their business. What’s gonna happen if they hate me? You gonna dump me or something?”

          “No.” Ian sighed. “It doesn’t really matter what they think, no one cares how the rest of us feel about it. It’s just the principle of the thing. You don’t get it.”

          “I really don’t,” he agreed. Ian rolled his eyes.

          They noticed the others coming out of the fast food place then, and immediately shut up. A few seconds later the doors opened and sound flooded the van again as the others piled inside, laughing and talking and already eating. Fiona turned to say something to Debbie, who once again had Liam tucked tightly on her lap, as she restarted the car and turned them back onto the street.

          “Ian!” she said, noticing him as she turned towards Debbie. “You’re up! We bought you and Mickey fries, just something tide you over til dinner. Lip? Pass the fries back.”

          “On it,” Lip called, and he began digging around in the bag set between his folded legs.

          Carl turned to look at them, leaning his back against Debbie’s seat. “Did you guys make out while we were gone?”

          “Carl!” Fiona shouted. She reached an arm back and batted it around blindly, but Carl ducked out of the way and after a minute she gave up.

          “Yeah,” said Ian, grinning at his brother. “We made out. All over the whole car. You’re actually sitting right where we were making out about two minutes ago.”

          Carl looked down, then back at him. Then he smiled too. “Cool,” he declared, and turned back to face the front again.

          Ian grinned over at Mickey, who raised his eyebrows back.

          They split the fries when Lip passed them back, and Ian joined in his siblings’ conversation with only occasional input from Mickey as they sped towards the house. Ian felt good, all surrounded by his family and Mickey, but he was still relieved when they pulled into the driveway awhile later and he could finally get out and stretch his legs after a long day of sitting down.

          They piled out, shoving and shouting, and grabbed their bags from the top of the van where Fiona had charmed them to stay before pushing their way into the house instead. Ian hesitated on the bottom step, letting his siblings get around him. Mickey grabbed his bag last and knocked Ian’s shoulder when he pushed past him.

          “Come on,” he said as he ascended the stairs. “It’s not like I’ve never been over before.”

          “Still weird,” Ian insisted, but he caught up with him anyway and followed him inside.

          They headed immediately up the stairs to dump their luggage in Ian’s room. Lip and Carl were pushing out of the room just as Ian and Mickey headed in, nearly tripping over Liam when he ran underfoot to catch up with his other brothers. Once they were alone, Ian shut the door, threw his bag on the floor, and collapsed onto his bed, splaying out all over the twin-sized mattress.

          “So,” said Mickey. Ian craned his neck to look over his shoulder and saw that Mickey was crouching down to dig through his bag. “What’s the deal for tonight?”

          “The deal?” Ian asked, lowering his cheek back to the mattress.

          “Yeah, you know. Am I gonna get the third degree from your siblings or are they gonna play it cool? Are they gonna come right out and ask me what they wanna know or secretly evaluate everything I say and do for the month and decide after I’m gone?”

          Ian huffed, which was the closest to laughter he could bring himself to muster at the moment when he still felt kind of tired from the car ride over.

          “My family’s not exactly subtle,” he promised. “Fiona might ask you a few things at dinner but they’ll probably leave you alone mostly. I mean, they won’t be all warm and fuzzy just yet, but they’ll hardly be watching your every move.”

          “Not gonna lock down their valuables?” Mickey asked derisively.

          Ian snorted. “We have valuables?”

          Mickey made an irritated noise, which Ian ignored. A few seconds later he felt Mickey flicking his ankle and kicked out at him until he stopped.

          “Don’t fall asleep on me, asswipe,” Mickey instructed. “I’m not facing family dinner alone, so you’ll be leaving me to starve. Do you really want to leave me to starve?”

          “More and more as this conversation goes on,” Ian said sweetly. Then he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He pressed his back against the wall instead, his head almost touching the slanted ceiling. “Happy now?”

          “Thrilled,” Mickey muttered, taking his eyes off of Ian and going back to digging through his bag.

          After a bit in silence, Ian said, “You know, you can throw that stuff in a drawer if you want. You don’t have to live out of your bag for the month.”

          Mickey just looked at him, so Ian sighed and climbed out of his bed and slid to the floor beside him. Most of his belongings were shoved into his trunk as he took most of them to school, but he still had most of his Muggle clothes stowed away. He set about shoving everything from the top drawer of his dresser into the bottom two, giving Mickey his own space.

          “Hey…how are you doing?” Ian asked as he moved a couple of shirts down lower. He slid a glance to the side, but Mickey was focused on grabbing some clothes and didn’t return the look. “I mean, with all of this? I know we can be a lot, but I just want to make sure you’re still…you know, okay with everything. I mean, with pretending to be my boyfriend and with dealing with my family and everything?”

          Mickey sighed. Ian watched his fingers rub over the edges of a t-shirt, half unfolded, and said nothing. Mickey rarely responded well to being pushed.

          “I’m fine,” Mickey said at length. “I mean, we both know how fucked up this is, right? But it’s not…it’s better than the alternative, you know? I guess there’s not really an alternative.”

          He looked frustrated, his forehead all pinched together, as he trailed off into silence. Ian reached out to rub his arm sympathetically, pleased when Mickey didn’t pull away.

          “No, there’s not,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “Come on, this will be great! After you answer a few questions from Fiona it will be all uphill.”

          “Questions?” he repeated, looking thoroughly not reassured.

          “Nothing big,” Ian said quickly. “Just some standard shit to make sure you’re good for me, real stupid stuff. Then it’s just hanging out and pissing off Lip by existing in the same house. You know how much you like pissing off Lip.”

          Mickey bit his lip. “It’s not the worst pastime,” he allowed, now looking slightly more convinced than before. “Just tell me they’re not gonna be all invasive and shit. I don’t know if I can handle these people being all up in my business.”

          “Them?” Ian snorted. “They’re possibly the least invasive people on the planet. Well, not with me anyway—they never really get on my case. About anything. They nag here and there but it’s mostly just asking me to pitch money in for the squirrel fund and stuff, not much personal stuff.”

          Mickey’s expression had shifted from worried to unhappy, and Ian looked pleadingly back at him, but then Mickey took the conversation in a direction he wasn’t expecting.

          “They have to ask you something, sometimes,” Mickey said, watching him closely. “What about school? Or work?”

          Ian shrugged, not completely sure where Mickey was going with this.

          “Unless someone owls home about me, they’re pretty hands-off, Mick. It’s cool though. I’d rather not have to deal with it. Debbie and Carl get the brunt of the nagging, even Lip if he’s being an idiot. I’ve heard it, it’s not something I’m looking to have directed at me.”

          Mickey still looked troubled. Ian just stared at him, a lot confused about how they had gotten into whatever Mickey was talking about from Ian trying to reassure him about the coming evening.

          “Mickey? What’s up with you? I—”

          Before either of them could continue their conversation, the bedroom door slammed open and Lip was there, watching them startle apart. Ian hadn’t even finished clearing out the top drawer for Mickey to use, and Mickey dropped the shirt he’d been holding.

          “Dinner’s ready,” Lip said, watching them with his arms crossed. “Finish your argument after, you two.”

          “We’re not arguing,” Ian said.

          Lip shrugged and didn’t say anything as he turned to leave, shutting the door behind him again. They were both still, listening to his retreating footsteps cross the hall and then descend the stairs. When the low rumblings from the kitchen were the only noises they could hear anymore, Ian turned back to Mickey, who was already watching him.

          “Dinner?” Ian offered.

          “Let’s eat.”

          They abandoned their partial unpacking and headed out of the room, quiet until they got to the top of the stairs that led down into the kitchen. Ian glanced sideways at Mickey, hesitating.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “I’m ready, Jesus,” he said, shoving Ian’s shoulder to get him to start walking ahead of him. “Can we just go?”

          “Whatever you want,” he muttered agreeably, and led the way into the fray.

          Everyone was already seated when they got there, apart from Debbie, who was corralling Liam in from the living room. Ian went to help her wrestle their energy-laden brother into his chair. When he was firmly seated, albeit with a determined pout, Ian turned back around to see that Mickey had already taken a seat. He grabbed the one next to him, and Debbie sat down on Ian’s other side.

          They all chatted aimlessly as they loaded their plates, breaking off into mini conversations apart from one another. Ian, ensnared into a talk with Carl about a boy from school, kept glancing to the side where Mickey was picking at his sweet potatoes with a fork and not speaking to anyone. Ian privately thought that he was probably happier this way and made no attempt to invite him to join him and Carl talking. Mickey was just staring at his plate anyway, making no move to speak to any of them.

          After a few minutes of eating and talking, Ian saw Fiona’s attention turn to Mickey out of the corner of his eye, and he faced her immediately.  He pressed his arm a little closer to Mickey’s to help steady him through the upcoming onslaught; Mickey glanced at him, and then to his other side when Fiona, seated at the head of the table, cleared her throat. Her gaze was directed straight at Ian and Mickey.

          “So, you two,” she said with affected casualness that had all the intended effect as if she had conjured a large elephant into the room herself, “how’d you end up getting together, anyway?”

          “Oh my god,” Ian muttered under his breath. “Straight to it, huh?”

          Fiona speared him with a firmly quelling look. “I’m just asking a simple question, Ian,” she said peevishly. “Am I not allowed to ask how you ended up dating your best friend?”

          Ian set his teeth. After an expectant silence, he said, “You are.”

          Fiona seemed pleased, as she brightened up immediately. “Well?”

          Ian was fully prepared to take this one, not trying to make it any more painful on Mickey than it probably always was, but to his surprise—and, by the look on their faces, to most of his family’s as well—Mickey spoke before he could.

          “It’s not dramatic or anything,” said Mickey. Ian had to give him credit, he was looking Fiona straight in the eye and even he could tell that Mickey sounded convincing. “We just worked, you know? We were friends for a long time, and that was great. But there was something…else.”

          “Something missing?” Debbie asked.

          Ian looked over to see his younger sister with her chin in one of her hands, and she was twirling her fork around in her food without paying much attention. He really hoped Mickey didn’t go too much further into it because Debbie already looked about ready to hound them for romantic details the rest of the night.

          “You can be just as fulfilled with friends, Debs,” said Fiona. “Or family. It’s not all about boyfriends and love.”

          “No, but Mickey’s right,” Ian cut in. He chanced slipping his hand over the back of Mickey’s where it lay on the table. Mostly he was squeezing his wrist, but their hands still overlapped a little. “It was okay for…awhile. I don’t know when something shifted.”

          Fiona nodded a little, seeming satisfied. Before she could say anything else, however, Debbie cut in.

          “So what happened?” she asked, splaying her arms out over the table in front of her. She seemed appalled that they might leave her hanging. “Did you just kiss one day? Did one of you say ‘I love you’? Who asked who out? Have you gone on a date yet?”

          “Debs—” Ian started, laughing a little.

          “Alright, I’m sure they don’t want to be pushed,” Fiona said, cutting her sister a look. Ian glanced towards Mickey, who looked relieved—at least until Fiona turned her gaze back to them. She started eating again though, which diminished her imperiousness a little when she said, “So, Mickey, how’s school going?”

          “It’s…going,” Mickey said guardedly. He was clearly wary of this new line of questioning. Ian slipped his hand off of his, squeezing his leg for a second before picking up his fork and resuming eating. He thought they might be relatively in the clear now.

          “You’ve got NEWTs this year?” asked Fiona.

          “Yep,” Mickey answered. Ian dug his elbow into Mickey’s arm, silently willing him to be a little more forthcoming. Mickey glanced at him and then cleared his throat. “Uhm, yeah, so I’ve been working trying to at least pass them…whatever.”

          “That’s great,” she said, and when she smiled, Ian didn’t even think it looked that forced. “Ian’s taking OWLs this year,” she added, pointing her fork at him, “I hope you’re getting him to study.”

          Ian grimaced at her. “I’m fine, Fiona,” he said loudly, but her attention, though deigning to flit briefly to him, remained mostly for Mickey.

          “Seriously,” Mickey broke in, and Ian turned to him in surprise. Mickey clapped him on the back but kept his hand there, steadying Ian instead of the other way around. Ian was never sure how they always ended up that way. “Kid’s smart. He’ll be more than fine.”

          Fiona looked between them for a few seconds, her eyebrows raised. Ian barely noticed her except for in his periphery; he was gazing firmly at Mickey, who was smiling back.

          “He’s really smart, Fiona,” added Carl. “Ian, remember when you helped me make that potion for Little Hank, to help him pass his homework?”

          “I remember,” said Ian, finally tearing his eyes away from Mickey to grin at his little brother. Mickey’s hand fell away. “You did all the work though, kid. Bonnie better watch out if you keep doing favors for Hank like that.”

          Carl blushed, but he glared too. “We’re just friends,” he insisted, kicking at Ian’s shin under the table.

          Ian laughed even as he bent over to rub at his bruised leg. “We’ve all been there,” he assured his brother. Carl’s glare redoubled.

          “Alright, no fighting while’s food around,” Lip said loudly. “Carl, so much as flick something and I’m not taking you out for dessert later. Fiona had to pee for someone to get this food.”

          Debbie perked up at that. “We’re going for dessert later?” she asked eagerly.

          As Lip grinned and started to tease her instead, Ian turned to Mickey and smiled. He leaned in a little, and Mickey dipped his head closer too.

          “I think that’s the end of the invasive questioning,” Ian muttered.

          Mickey’s eyebrows jumped towards his hairline. “That’s it?” he asked, incredulous. “That was barely anything. She asked me like, two questions about school, and one of them was about helping you pass OWLs. How is that it?”

          Ian shrugged. “That’s just it. Trust me. I mean, Lip might get all older brotherly later but…yeah. I think you’re in.”

          Mickey was getting that look again that furrowed his entire forehead.

          “What?” Ian asked. “You wanted there to be more? Fiona can vet someone pretty extensively if she wants to. You got off easy.”

          Mickey just stared blankly for a few seconds, and then he muttered, “Jesus,” but he leaned away right after and Ian didn’t have the opportunity to question him over his strange, misplaced dismay before Lip dragged him into a conversation about where they should go for ice cream after dinner, and Ian pretty much decided to drop the subject altogether. Shortly thereafter, Carl pulled him into a lengthy interrogation on his criminal record, but he seemed more intrigued than concerned and the conversation was quickly stopped by Fiona after Mickey listed three juvie sentences and a hearing with a probation officer.

          “But my record will be clean as soon as I turn eighteen,” Mickey assured him, apparently content to ignore Fiona’s warning glare at both him and Carl. “They’re all Muggle offenses anyway, none of them are on the Ministry’s record of me. Then when I’m eighteen I’m gonna try to do a whole steered straight thing.”

          “Really?” Lip cut in, not pleasantly.

          “Yeah,” said Mickey, still looking at Carl. “Me and prison would not get along, man. Muggle or wizard.”

          “Alright, no one at this table should be going to prison,” said Fiona, glaring pointedly at only Carl now.

          “Hear hear,” said Lip, though somewhat sarcastically.

          Ian hid his smirk behind a sip of water but still grinned when Mickey looked his way right after.

          They all headed up to get changed into warmer clothes before going out for dessert. With no privacy in his room, Ian had no opportunity to speak to Mickey about how dinner had gone, but he tried to convey it anyway as they got dressed for going out into the cold.

          “Okay, you can throw your stuff in there now,” said Ian as he finally finished clearing out his top drawer. “Hey, I think Fi likes you, by the way. As my boyfriend, I mean. You can probably even sleep in my bed tonight.”

          “Fuck you,” Mickey muttered under his breath, slapping him with his scarf. Ian laughed.

          “Guys, please don’t do anything while I’m in the room,” said Carl.

          “No promises,” said Ian, winking at Mickey, who immediately hit him with his scarf again.

          “Just shut up and help me move this shit, asshole.”

          Carl moved on to helping Liam get dressed while Ian helped Mickey shove his clothes into the drawer, leaving everything else he had brought home still tucked away in his bag for now. After jamming one last bulky sweatshirt inside and slamming it shut, Ian turned to Mickey where he was pulling on gloves and shrugging into his jacket.

          “Let me,” he said, stepping up to him and grabbing the scarf he had thrown onto the bed.

          Mickey just raised an eyebrow at him. Ian grinned cheekily as he stepped close enough to wind the scarf around the back of his neck and back to the front, where he then began to knot it tightly. He was close enough that he could see all the tiny freckles dotting Mickey’s face, and Mickey was watching him, gaze steady.

          Ian finished tying his scarf snugly around him. Before Mickey could step away, Ian tugged on the end of it and brought Mickey closer, and he leaned up to press a kiss to the end of his nose.

          “All done,” said Ian. “Let’s go, boyfriend.”

          He knew his cheeks were tinging pink as he stepped away from Mickey, who was standing frozen still where Ian had released him. Ian could hear Carl pretending to gag but ignored him, watching Mickey and still smiling nervously.

          And then Mickey shook his head and muttered, “Idiot,” and Ian laughed as he finished zipping up his own coat and they headed back downstairs together.

          Debbie and Lip were already by the door, squabbling as Lip tried to tuck in her scarf while Debbie shouted that she could do it herself. Mickey harbored a little smirk as they joined them by the door, but when Ian looked at him, equal parts pleased and amused, Mickey hastily cleared his expression into his usual look of bored disdain. Ian rolled his eyes and started tugging on his gloves instead of bothering to tease.

          Fiona came down next and started fussing with Debbie’s hat, and when she was rebuffed too, she turned to straighten the beanie Ian had thrown on instead.

          “All good?” she asked, tugging it a little lower over his ears.

          “I’m fine,” he said, batting her away. “Jesus, Fi. Liam will be down in a minute, you can fuss all over him.”

          She leveled him a harassed and unimpressed look but left him alone. Ian pinched Mickey’s arm to stop him from snickering, but it was pretty ineffective through the layers and Mickey just laughed harder.

          “Asshole,” Ian muttered.

          Once Carl and Liam joined them, Fiona ushered them all out onto the porch and locked the door behind them. Without much space on the porch, Ian snagged the end of Mickey’s coat sleeve between his fingers and tugged him down onto the front walk instead.

          Mickey tended to saunter instead of walk; once they all piled down onto the sidewalk and started heading down the street, Mickey fell behind them, and Ian stayed back with him, letting the others pull ahead and slowing down to match his pace with Mickey’s.

          “You’ll like this place,” Ian assured him. “It’s got dulche de leche and peanut butter swirl—”

          “Really?” Mickey asked scathingly. “Am I gonna like anything more than I hate this plan? ‘Cause I’m freezing my balls off in the middle of winter and now we’re getting ice cream on top of that.”

          Ian just slung his arm over Mickey’s shoulders and laughed. “Don’t be a dick,” he said, squeezing him close for a second despite Mickey’s pinched, harassed expression, before relaxing again. “Come on, it’s family fun! You love family fun!”

          “When have I literally ever loved family fun?”

          “Whenever you get to hang out with me,” said Ian, smiling cheekily. “Because _I_ love family fun and you love me.”

          “Yeah, well. I’m reconsidering.”

          Ian grinned. “But you do love me?” he clarified. “Because that response suspiciously didn’t deny that you do very much love me.”

          “Get away from me,” Mickey groused. He wrestled his hands between their bodies and shoved ineffectually at Ian’s side, but Ian, laughing, only tightened his hold around Mickey’s shoulders and didn’t relent until Mickey gave up first, swearing all the while.

          “You see?” Ian asked once they were comfortably strolling again. He hadn’t dropped his arm yet. “Isn’t everything easier when you let me have my way?”

          Mickey grumbled. “Yeah, and the constant headache is just a minor inconvenience. Easily overlooked.”

          “I know,” Ian said airily. “That’s why they invented Ibuprofen.”

          He could practically feel Mickey rolling his eyes beside him and chose, very kindly in his opinion, to ignore him.

          Mickey stopped complaining about the cold after that at least, and it was a relatively headache-free walk to the ice cream shop. The pair of them ordered last and, after shoving some Muggle money he had found in his winter coat’s pocket into Fiona’s hand to help her pay for them all, Ian squeezed into the table beside Mickey, who was sitting very still and not speaking to any of Ian’s chattering siblings.

          “So,” Ian said, drawing out the word to the three times its normal length, “is this place good or is it good?”

          “It’s good,” Mickey confirmed even as he rolled his eyes. “They should get this stuff up at school.”

          “I know.” Ian felt weirdly proud knowing about the little shop, living near it, showing it to Mickey—even though he didn’t really have anything to be pleased about. “Just wait. You’re lucky you don’t live around here in summertime, when it’s actually nice enough to walk down here a lot. Remember how sick you were after eating all that candy for Halloween? Multiply that by a thousand.”

          Mickey shook his head. “You have no self-control.”

          Ian grinned. “Not _no_ control,” he revised. “You’re just most of my impulse control.”

          To his disappointed surprise, Mickey didn’t return his smile. Instead, he just furrowed his brow, looking totally confused.

          “Me?”

          Ian matched his expression. “Sure,” he said slowly. He elbowed Mickey in the side in a gesture that he hoped came off as playful. “Between giving me shit for everything and stopping me from doing the stupid dangerous stuff, you end up bailing me out a lot. You know. Preemptively.”

          “I do?” Mickey still seemed mystified.

          “Yeah, of course.” Ian smiled again. “Trust me, I’d be long dead without you.  Or at least shacked up in the hospital wing ninety percent of the time.”

          Mickey blinked a few times, then swallowed, and at length he said, “For real?”

          “Yes, for real!” Ian said, laughing a little even as his frustration grew. “Christ. You’re my impulse control, and I help you clean shit up after you let your impulses out. It’s the perfect balance. We balance each other out.”

          Mickey just watched him for a few seconds, his lips parted. Ian couldn’t quite decipher his expression; he seemed both amazed and bewildered, and Ian didn’t really know what to make of it. Before either of them could say anything else, Fiona finished paying and squeezed into the booth opposite them, and Carl said, “Are you two gonna eat or just let your ice cream melt while you profess your love and shit?”

          Ian just rolled his eyes and picked up his spoon, shooting Mickey a sidelong look. Where he expected him to share his amused exasperation, Mickey had flushed.

          “We’re just talking,” he said roughly, glaring at Carl.

          Far from intimidated, Carl just regarded him passively. “Whatever you say,” he said, shrugging and turning back to his dessert.

          Shaking his head a little at Mickey’s theatrics, Ian sighed. He pressed his hand to Mickey’s lower back, hard enough for him to feel it through his winter coat.

          “Let it go,” he whispered.

          Mickey turned to him, clearly peeved, but before he could say anything Ian spoke again:

          “Balance, remember? Calm down.”

          Ian watched as Mickey’s jaw clenched tighter, but he didn’t say anything. Slowly—and evidently painstakingly—he unwound, looser and looser until he seemed completely relaxed. Ian waited, but he still didn’t bite back at anyone, and Ian finally removed his hand from Mickey’s back and went back to his ice cream, satisfied. He watched from the corner of his eye as Mickey did the same.

          They all ate until they were shivering and grumbling complaints about how full they were; then they tugged back on their hats and gloves and scarves and piled out of the booth one by one. Ian looped his arm through Mickey’s as they waited for the rest of them to stand up and finish redressing. They didn’t look at each other, but Ian felt Mickey’s arm tighten around his, keeping it trapped firmly with his. He bit back a smile.

          They headed outside again, and Ian and Mickey once again pulled up the back of the group, though by less of a distance than on the trip there. The wind had picked up while they had been inside, and they were all already cold from the ice cream. Nobody spoke much, and they mostly just ducked their heads against the cold and walked as quickly as possible. Mickey unhooked his and Ian’s arms so that they could both shove their hands as deeply into their pockets as they could.

          As soon as they got inside, everyone rushed around getting warm. Ian went upstairs to change into sweatpants and thicker socks. When he came back down, he found that Fiona had lit the fireplace while he was gone. He joined Mickey, now shed of his coat and gloves and scarf and huddled close to the fire beneath an afghan, and they squeezed closely together, trying to get warm.

          The others sprawled out on the couch or the floor, covered in coats and blankets but slowly shedding them as the warming spell Fiona had cast over the room started to take effect. Lip found a Christmas movie playing on TV and Ian took pillows from the couch for him and Mickey to lay against as they reclined on their stomachs on the floor near the fireplace, watching Rudolph travel to the Land of Misfit Toys. After awhile Mickey lifted the edge of his blanket, and Ian scooted closer to him and pulled it over him so they were both huddled beneath it.

          As the movie went on, Ian felt Mickey fading beside him. He himself was drawing closer to sleep. By the time Mickey fell asleep beside him, Ian was barely awake himself. The fire was roaring and their blanket was thick and Mickey was warm beside him, and Ian wanted little else but to drift off with him, pressed tight to each other with Christmas movies playing in the background.

          Ian had laid his head down and was almost asleep when the movie finished, and Fiona, the only other one still conscious, clicked off the television before the next one could start playing right afterwards. Ian blinked himself a little more aware.

          Ian watched as Fiona gathered her blanket around herself and stood, not yet awake enough to do much more than stare at her. She tucked Carl’s blanket around him a little more securely, smoothed Debbie’s hair out of her face, and then shuffled over and squatted in front of Ian’s pillow.

          “Hey,” she whispered, while he blinked sleepily at her. “I’m heading up to bed. Are you staying down here?”

          After a few slow seconds, Ian shook his head. When he spoke, his voice came out croaky and low.

          “No,” he whispered back. “I’ll…I’ll wake Mickey in a minute and we’ll go up to my room.”

          “Okay.” Fiona offered him a small lopsided smile. “No funny business, okay?”

          Ian couldn’t muster more than an indulgent smile at her teasing.

          “Just sleeping,” he promised. “I’ll save the funny business for the shower.”

          Fiona ruffled his hair affectionately and used her knees to leverage herself back to her feet. Ian watched her stand to her full height and start to leave, but she only got a few steps away before she turned back, eying him speculatively.

          “What?”

          A moment’s silence passed. Then Fiona shook her head. She glanced at Mickey for a split second before her attention settled back on Ian, and he thought she seemed a little more alert than she had a second ago.

          “You’re happy, aren’t you?” she asked, squinting at him a little as though that would help her better suss out his level of sincerity.

          Ian wasn’t even faking or embellishing when he glanced behind him at Mickey and then smiled up at his sister. At that moment, he didn’t feel much else besides deep-rooted contentment, and he was sure that they both knew the cause.

          “I’m really happy,” he promised.

          Fiona watched the two of them for a few more seconds before she offered a small, jerky nod. Then she tugged her blanket more tightly around her shoulders and turned, shuffling away up the stairs to her room. Once she was gone, Ian sighed and laid his head back down. He was awake now though, too alert from his brief conversation with his sister to ignore the ache in his back and neck from resting on the floor for almost two hours, but still tired enough to lay there and stare blankly at Mickey’s sleeping face for a few minutes before reaching out to shake him awake.

          Mickey did not wake up gracefully. He grunted and rolled away from Ian, taking the blanket with him, and Ian had to shake him insistently for five minutes before Mickey rolled over onto his back and cracked his eyes open up at the ceiling.

          “What?” he grumbled. “Ian?”

          “I’m here.” Ian watched him blink a few times, his eyes searching blankly until he found Ian’s. “It’s late.”

          Mickey mumbled something and looked prepared to roll back over; Ian grabbed his shoulder before he could.

          “Hey,” he said, holding him steady in that position, watching Mickey blink blearily at him. “Come on, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

          Mickey flung his arm over his face and groaned something that sounded like, “ _No_.” Ian sighed and resumed shaking his shoulder, gentler now, until Mickey’s arm fell away. Ian stared passively into his scowling face for a few silent seconds.

          “I want to go to bed,” Ian said then.

          This time, when Mickey sighed and covered his face with his hands, Ian was sure of his compliance and he let go of his shoulder. Mickey scrubbed at his face, up and down for a few repetitions, before he sat up, blinking deliberately. Ian sat up too and watched him wake himself up until Mickey climbed suddenly to his feet and held his hand out for Ian to pull himself up as well. Ian let go as soon as he was standing and led the way up the stairs to his bedroom.

          They stripped sleepily, fumbling and silent, and changed into comfortable pajamas. Ian pulled on a more comfortable night shirt; Mickey found flannel bottoms and started tugging them on. Once dressed, Ian left Mickey digging through his bag and headed for the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, getting the long day of travel and family partially off of him, as much as he could without outright showering. Mickey joined him halfway through his night routine and took up silent residence beside him at the sink. They stared at each other in the mirror, brushing their teeth and watching their reflections. The silence wasn’t particularly uncomfortable; actually, Ian felt surprisingly at home, quietly getting ready for bed with Mickey beside him doing the same.

          Mickey shooed him out after that so he could pee, and Ian headed back into his room and got straight into bed, pulling the covers up around his shoulders and settling in. He was struggling to wait for Mickey and not blink out of consciousness completely just yet, and by the time Mickey came into the doorway five minutes later, Ian had almost—but not quite—lost his battle with sleep. He struggled back awake as Mickey came further into the room.

          Mickey cleared his throat awkwardly, pausing beside Ian’s bed.

          “I can conjure a sleeping bag,” he offered, his forehead scrunching up.

          He was clearly uncomfortable—Ian assumed it was in reaction to sharing a bed, and he bit at the inside of his cheek. Then he lifted up the edge of his blanket a little, staring up steadily at Mickey.

          “Sleep here,” he said, somewhere between an offer and a command. “Boyfriends don’t sleep on the floor, it would be weird.”

          Mickey seemed unsurprised by this, and he nodded a little before crawling beneath the covers without protest. Ian could feel him immediately, even more so than when they had been sharing a blanket on the floor during Rudolph. His presence was warm and solid, and Ian wasn’t sure if he wanted to roll towards or away from it. He settled on watching the back of his head until Mickey rolled over to face him, closing the distance between them by a few inches in the process.

          “A few inches apart?” Mickey suggested.

          “Lip and Carl sleep in here,” Ian reminded him. “Liam too, and he’s pretty perceptive.”

          Mickey sighed and turned back over. Ian wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted, and he didn’t know how to ask—he wasn’t sure if this was the type of thing he was supposed to talk about anyway. Maybe Mickey just wanted to get it over with.

          When Ian reached out, he did it tentatively. His fingers brushed against Mickey’s back, bare where his tank top didn’t cover all of his shoulder blade, and he felt Mickey shiver. Ian wasn’t breathing as he shifted closer, feathering his fingers up towards Mickey’s arm instead. There was a second where Ian’s shirt brushed Mickey’s back and neither of them moved. Then they both shifted and readjusted, molding together and curling around each other, and when they settled, Ian’s chest was pressed all along Mickey’s back and they were cocooned together in blankets and the comfortable dip in the bed where the mattress was worn down slightly from Ian sleeping on it for so many years. Ian was still barely breathing; his nose was in Mickey’s hair, and every time he inhaled, his senses were filled up with Mickey’s scent. There was no way to escape what was happening—he was reminded of it with every shift and breath of his body.

          Mickey fidgeted against him. Ian breathed out.

          “Mickey?”

          “Yeah?”

          “You’re still in this?” Ian asked. If Mickey wasn’t, Ian was sure they would both have to die on this bed anyway, because he really wasn’t prepared to disentangle himself should Mickey choose now to back out. He would be too embarrassed to ever move again, probably.

          Mickey’s exhale was loud in the quiet, in their intimately shared space. His voice was harsh when he said, “Would you stop asking me that? I’m in this, Ian. We’re doing this.”

          Ian closed his eyes, relaxing into the bed a little more, a little further into their bubble.

          “So my family didn’t scare you off?” he said, joking now to lighten the mood. “You’re not gonna bolt from having to cuddle me all night?”

          Mickey snorted. “I would have left your ass a long time ago if that’s what it took. You’re a fucking octopus anytime we fall asleep in the same bed.”

          Ian chuckled, the hair directly in front of his mouth rustling slightly and tickling his nose, but he sobered quickly. “This is different,” he pointed out.

          Mickey’s foot caught him on the shin that Carl had bruised earlier as he kicked at him. Ian, too comfortable to really move and retaliate at that particular moment despite the pain, settled for pinching Mickey in the side. Instead of putting his hand awkwardly back on his arm after, though, he slid his arm around Mickey’s middle, inadvertently pulling them tighter together as his body readjusted to the new position. His fingers brushed Mickey’s palm on the mattress. His eyes drifted closed.

          “Hey, there’s worse things. It’s better than whatever I got hexed in third year,” Mickey said. “Remember? My ass was stinging for a month straight afterwards, I’ve still got a scar.”

          Ian laughed. “Yes, Mickey. I remember your ass scar. It’s legendary.”

          “Oh, great. I’d hate to be remembered by something other than my ass.”

          Ian grinned, nestling further into his hair and the pillow, and his arm tightened around him for a second before he relaxed again.

          “Like you’d be remembered for anything else,” he teased.

          Mickey huffed indignantly and threw an elbow back, but he only caught air and gave up right after, settling back against Ian. He didn’t say anything else. A few seconds later he pulled the blankets up further on top of the both of them, tucking it close by their chins, and his breathing slowed out the way it did when he was preparing to go to sleep. Ian opened one eye to peer over at the side of his face; he looked relaxed, even peaceful. Giddiness swelled in Ian’s chest. Aside from the fact that he felt a little responsible for giving Mickey a safe place and thus aligning things to put that look on his face right now, more than anything he was just _happy_. Mickey was safe, and Mickey felt good, and Ian was happy.

          When Ian closed both his eyes again, his mind was surprisingly blank. Where he had expected to be consumed by worry over their coming month or memories of the past day, instead he was filled with nothing but that same light pleasure as he slowly drifted off, his heart beating to the rhythm of Mickey’s steady breathing.

          Ian didn’t often dream, but tonight he did. And when he dreamed, he dreamed of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed my url! Find me [here](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/134861835120) :)


	8. the sturdy kind that doesn’t mind the snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was the plan, Mandy. Isn’t it a good thing that we’re selling it?”  
> This time when she opened her eyes, she seemed much more awake, red eyes wide and judgmental. She turned her head to face him more completely.  
> “Fucking is it though?” she asked. “Ian, are you just selling it? I just…” She trailed off, sighed. “Be careful.”  
> “I am being careful,” he assured her. _That’s all I’m being_ , he thought.

          Ian woke up first that morning, not that that particularly surprised him. Without the threat of classes, Mickey wouldn’t wake up until noon. Ian was hardly an early riser, but an absence of the incentive of getting sent back to Terry if he didn’t wake meant Mickey would stay in bed all day if Ian let him.

          Mickey had rolled over away from him during the night, although since the bed wasn’t that big, they were still touching everywhere except for where Mickey had thrown his arm over his face. Ian smiled at the sight, slow and lazy and wide. He stretched his arms over his head and arched his back, feeling all his joints crack and his muscles stretch satisfactorily, before sitting up and carefully climbing over Mickey. He managed not to disturb him crawling over him, nor his brothers as he headed out of the room and downstairs.

          No one was up yet. Ian decided to change into running clothes and do a short lap around the block. It was only about two miles, but he hadn’t been jogging that often anyway since school started and the pleasant burn and stretch was nice contrasted with the chilly weather, getting him reacclimatized to the activity that his doctor insisted on. Overall he felt pleased with himself when he jogged back up the walkway and headed inside towards the kitchen for a glass of water. Fiona was already up, scrambling some eggs and talking to Liam, who was babbling about one of his TV shows and complaining about one of the girls in his daycare who always ate his string cheese.

          “Oh, to be young and have _that_ be your biggest problem,” Fiona muttered to Ian as he brushed past her towards the sink. He laughed, and she broke into a tired smile. “How are ya? Sleep well?”

          “Slept all right,” Ian said, turning the faucet off again and lifting his glass to his mouth. He took a few chugs, giving Fiona plenty of opportunity to keep talking and him none to escape upstairs for a shower.

          “Glad to hear it,” she said, turning back to her eggs. “What about Mickey? He sleep okay too?”

          “No clue, he was still asleep when I left,” said Ian, backing towards the stairs. “I’ll ask him when he gets up.”

          “Yeah, cool. Hey, wake Debbie and Carl up before you shower, would you? I wanna do a family breakfast this morning. Plus Mickey, of course.”

          “What about Lip?”

          “Already here, little bro,” said Lip, stepping into the kitchen as Ian edged up one stair. He shut the back door behind him and brandished the mail he was carrying with the other. “Fi, none of our stuff comes here anymore other than advert subscriptions and shit. So why am I getting _your_ mail?”

          They dissolved into easy banter and Ian made his escape, bounding up the stairs before they could drag him into the conversation again. His sweat was starting to make his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin, but he dutifully woke up a grumpy Debbie and a grumbling, cursing Carl before heading to the bathroom for a shower. By the time he finished and toweled off, the only people not downstairs were him and his best friend, still fast asleep beneath Ian’s covers. Ian grinned at the Mickey-shaped lump on his bed as he rubbed his towel through his hair and started to get dressed.

          “Hey, Mick,” he called, and whipped his towel at Mickey.

          Mickey made an aborted snuffling noise, then his fingers started scrambling, pulling at the towel over his eyes. Ian watched in amusement as Mickey clawed the wet towel off his face and flung it to the floor.

          “What the hell, Gallagher?” he grumbled, rolling onto his side and glaring blearily out of one eye, the bedcovers pulled up all the way to his chin.

          Ian grinned. “Time to get up, asshole. Family breakfast time.”

          Mickey gave one loud, long sound of protest and rolled over. When his voice came, it came very muffled. “I ain’t family.”

          “Don’t be a dick,” Ian said cheerfully.

          “Fuck you. That’s all I am.”

          Ian laughed softly and finished buttoning up his jeans, then slipped a t-shirt over his head. He headed over to the bed and sat down heavily, making the cheap mattress bounce obnoxiously.

          “Get up, badger-fucker.”

          “Eat me, snake dick.” Mickey groaned and buried his face into his pillow. “I lied. Don’t eat me. Just go away.”

          Ian poked insistently at his cheek. “Get up, Mickey! It’s a Gallagher family breakfast. I can guarantee angst, suspense, a dramatic climax—”

          “A climax, huh?”

          “Oh, just get up.” Ian hopped off the bed. “If you’re not down in ten I’m sending Lip up, and he’ll happily hex you hard enough to rival your butt scar.”

          Ian grinned behind him at the prolonged, distressed moan Mickey let out and headed downstairs for breakfast.

          His threats worked well without follow-through; Mickey turned up in his rumpled tank and baggy sweats with a minute to spare. He looked somewhere between exhausted and murderous as he rubbed at his eye and found a seat at the table. Ian smiled sunnily at him and passed him one of the bowls.

          “Eggs?”

          Mickey glared. At Ian’s continued expectant look, he finally managed to grunt out, “…Coffee.”

          He improved marginally with caffeine in his system and became somewhat tolerable, but he still didn’t talk much; Ian turned his attention on his family, giving Mickey time to liven up before siccing him on the others.

          “So, everyone,” said Fiona.

          Ian wasn’t sure what Mickey heard in her tone that he missed, but Mickey shifted his chair closer to Ian’s when she spoke. His arm pressed against his. Ian glanced sideways at him, but his gaze was fixed, unhappy, at Fiona. Ian turned back to his sister.

          “Me and Debbie figured we should do a little Christmas shopping in, get there early to beat the last-minute rush,” said Fiona, glancing around at everyone’s disinterested faces. “Come on, everything’s cheaper before they jack up the prices to fuck with the people who waited. So who’s in?”

          There was a sudden upswing of anxious murmuring as everyone hurried to get out their excuses.

          “I already have mine covered,” Lip said swiftly.

          “Yeah, and I’ll just sign my name to Debbie’s,” said Carl.

          Debbie glared at him, her mouth open. “You will not!”

          “Come on!”

          “No!”

          In the babble, everyone seemed to miss Ian and Mickey, who were shooting each other uneasy glances. Everyone, that was, except for Fiona.

          “Guys?” She fixed her gaze directly at them.

          Mickey scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Well—”

          “You see—” added Ian, unhelpfully because he had no conclusion to his preamble.

          Fiona raised her eyebrows. “You know you won’t go out alone if no one forces you to come with them,” she pointed out.

          “I expect presents,” Debbie added.

          Ian shot Mickey a pained look. Mickey raised his eyebrows back. His expression said, _don’t fucking think about it_ , but Ian chose to interpret it as, _I dare you_ and decided to take the bet.

          “Well,” he said, looking back at his older sister, “I mean, I guess…”

          Although he did not dare turn to look, Ian could feel Mickey’s glare on the side of his face, and he knew it was murderous. Mickey’s arm, pressed alongside Ian’s throughout Fiona’s proposal, disappeared as he tucked it closer to his side.

          After breakfast they headed upstairs to get dressed. Mickey didn’t speak to Ian as he disappeared up the stairs first, and he was changing with his back to the door when Ian came inside.

          “Don’t be mad,” Ian insisted as his means of announcing his entrance.

          Mickey turned his head to glare at Ian over his shoulder, but otherwise failed to comment as he started tugging his jeans onto his other leg.

          “Don’t be mad!” Ian stepped further into the room, spreading his hands beseechingly. “What choice did I have?”

          “You could have said no!”

          Mickey straightened up to glare at him. Ian raised an eyebrow indolently; Mickey’s intimidation tactic might have had more bite if he had bothered to zip up his jeans yet.

          “This isn’t your house,” Ian snapped. “We don’t just _say no_.”

          Mickey looked horrified. “You gotta pretend like you want to spend time with each other? Christ. This keeps getting worse and worse.”

          “We actually like spending time together,” Ian said. He shook his head and took a step closer as some of the tension palpably started to melt. “Would you please just finish getting dressed?”

          Mickey shot him a look as he did up his jeans. “A whole day with the Gallaghers, huh?”

          Ian cracked a smile. “Welcome to it. Hey, at least we can pretend like we’re consciously toning down the PDA in public.”

          Mickey shook his head. “This is new levels of fucked up.”

          “Aw, you already titled our love story.”

          Mickey drew his wand swiftly, and Ian laughed and ducked to dodge the curse Mickey sent flying well over his head. He kept laughing as he straightened and grabbed Mickey’s wrist, forcing it out of offensive position and lightly wresting his wand from his grasp.

          “No wands in public, this town’s half Muggle. Come on, grab a shirt you haven’t drooled on and let’s get going.”

          Ian set about throwing on some acceptable clothing and then bundled up on top of that. He was still shivering a little as he pulled on his overcoat; the temperature had dropped even further overnight, and the heater was acting up again. Though not unusual, it was relatively poor timing.

          “Come here,” Mickey said with a sigh as he watched Ian shiver.

          Ian obligingly crossed to stand in front of him, and Mickey picked up his wand again. He raised it over Ian’s head and tapped it lightly on the crown of his head; in seconds, Ian felt heat wash over his entire body, and he sighed with the onslaught of warmth that felt as though he were sitting in front of a comfortably roaring fire. Ian looked at Mickey, eyes wide and lips parted.

          “Heating charm?” he asked.

          Mickey shrugged, flushing a little. “I just started getting the hang of nonverbal spells. It probably won’t last more than four hours.”

          After he stowed his wand again, he and Ian headed back downstairs to face Fiona and Debbie’s excitement. Debbie was bouncing a little already and Fiona had a small, fond smile on her face as she watched their sister. Ian and Mickey shuffled into the foyer with them, and Mickey’s sigh alerted Fiona to their presence; she looked up, grinning ruefully.

          “Hey guys,” she said. “Ready to go?”

          Ian led the way out the front door, hastily and messily tangling his fingers with Mickey’s to pull him along after him. Ian turned to Mickey once they were on the sidewalk, watching Fiona tap her wand against the door to enable the wards.

          Mickey was watching him, as Ian discovered when he let go of Mickey’s hand and spun to face him. His smile bloomed, and the corners of Mickey’s mouth ticked up in response.

          “The warming charm’s working,” Ian said, stretching his arms out delightedly. The snowfall, soft but insistent, flecked his exposed face, but his cheeks felt as warm as his gloved hands.

          “Yeah, that’s what it’s for.” Mickey was smiling though, when Ian lowered his eyes from the sky to his face to see.

          Ian reached out and cupped Mickey’s cheeks, bringing their faces a little closer together. Mickey’s smile was softer than Ian’s, but warmer too. Then he let him go.

          Fiona finally finished warding the house and joined them on the sidewalk, with Debbie trotting down the stairs behind her. She beckoned for them to follow as they left through the gate, and Ian flashed Mickey one more smile before jerking his head in his sisters’ direction and following them out towards the van.

          With the magical modifications one of Fiona’s rich, inventive ex-boyfriends had installed, they got to the shopping center much faster than they would have otherwise. Mickey had insisted on putting the seats up finally, so at least they had some measure of stability as they seatbelted themselves in and sped off.

          The place wasn’t as packed as Ian had seen it a few other times, but it was still filled with people milling all about, all chattering happily and lugging bags of purchases. Fiona and Debbie led the way inside, while Ian waited a few moments so as to allow Mickey to take a long, daunted look at the center before he squared his shoulders and headed inside as well. Ian wanted to roll his eyes at the dramatics, but in truth he felt a little of that same sinking feeling.

          They stuck together; with funds perpetually low and most of the kids off at a technology-restricted school for most of the year, only Fiona had a cell phone, and she didn’t trust them to reappear at a designated location in a few hours.

          “Can we please go off alone?” Mickey muttered as soon as they entered the first store and were surrounded by an oddly fashionable but obviously cheap selection of clothes.

          Fiona and Debbie had disappeared before Ian could even glance around cursorily.

          “No,” Ian said, grimacing in apology. “Once, Fiona let us all split up and me and Lip ended up eating twelve sticks of cotton candy between us, then rode the carousel til we both puked. Carl was lost for three hours. Debbie almost got kidnapped. It was bad. So, now we stick together.”

          “I’m of age, Ian,” Mickey complained, his voice creeping dangerously towards whining. “I’m legally allowed to look after myself.”

          “Ministry Law and Gallagher Law are two very different things,” Ian said ominously. Then he perked up a bit. “Come on, I need a new pair of jeans. I only have one dark blue pair and they’re wearing through at the knee.”

          Mickey’s grumbling didn’t abate, but he obligingly followed Ian to the boys’ jeans and assisted him in rifling through the piles for Ian’s size.

          Fiona found them as Ian was toting three different jeans and a flannel shirt to try on over to the dressing rooms, followed by Debbie with a significantly larger pile of clothes.

          “Great!” said Fiona as they headed towards their dressing rooms. “You two try those on and me and Mickey will wait out here.”

          Ian raised his eyebrows at that. Beside Fiona, Mickey was wearing a similarly disbelieving expression, although his was also marred by undisguised disgust.

          “I thought we were Christmas shopping,” Mickey said. His tone suggested that he was withholding some truly creative insults and derogatory comments; Ian shot him a grateful smile.

          “Christmas is about good cheer,” Debbie retorted, glaring at him. “And clothes give me good cheer.”

          With that, she slammed her dressing room door shut. Ian shrugged helplessly and closed his own.

          He tried to try his clothes on quickly to avoid exacerbating Mickey’s ennui and exasperation, but he only got through two pairs of jeans before someone was knocking on his door.

          “Ian!” Fiona called. “I can see your feet, stop changing without consulting me. I don’t trust you to approve anything that actually looks good.”

          “They were terrible,” Ian called back. “I’ll show you the next one.”

          “Jesus, is shopping always a fucking experience with you people?” Mickey’s voice, loud and annoyed, was clear even through the door. Ian was mostly glad that Mickey couldn’t see him pressing his lips together in amusement; he knew he was going to catch hell for this entire outing anyway, he didn’t need to add to the animosity.

          “I’ll be out in a sec,” he assured them both.

          “You better,” said Fiona. Ian waited for her to go on, but a moment later he heard Debbie’s door open and Fiona deliberating with her on some article of clothing or other, and he went back to changing.

          The next pair of jeans was perfect. Ian longed to just throw his clothes back on and take it, but he knew Fiona would complain, so to avoid further debacle than he would already be experiencing from Mickey later on, he just resigned himself to the whole ordeal and opened the door to seek his sister’s approval.

          Mickey perked up when Ian opened the door, and though his face fell when he saw that Ian wasn’t done, he still didn’t slump as far down the wall as he had been leaning. Meanwhile, Fiona tilted her head to the side, considering him. Ian’s gaze flitted between his sister’s face and Mickey’s, enjoying sharing Mickey’s bored glances. After a few moments’ deliberation, Fiona twirled her finger in the air, indicating that he turn around. Ian did so, slowly, raising his arms theatrically in the air until he faced them again.

          “Face the other way,” Fiona instructed.

          Ian sighed and did as he was told, slapping his hands back to his sides.

          “What do you think, Mickey?” Fiona asked.

          “Me?”

          Mickey sounded startled. Amusement intermingled with alarm bells in Ian’s head.

          “Yes, you. Do these look like the ones he usually wears? Don’t you think they’re a little too loose in the back?”

          “Fuck do I know what he usually wears?”

          Mickey’s discomfort, though open, seemed more funny than suspicious. Ian allowed himself a private smile, although as he was facing the mirror in the open dressing room, he caught eye contact with Debbie. They shared identical grins.

          “Come on!” Fiona complained. “What do you think of them?”

          “He’s in robes most of the time that I see him,” Mickey said, still insistently circumventing the question.

          “But you have working eyes, don’t you?”

          “For fuck’s sake—They’re fine!” Mickey was half-shouting now.

          “Hmm.” Fiona sounded unconvinced. Mickey let out an audible sigh. He was standing behind Ian in a way that Ian couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, but based on Debbie’s expression, his reaction was good. “I think the pockets are too loose. The entire back, really. See how slouchy they look?”

          Mickey sighed again. “They’re fine. Ian’s got the flattest ass I’ve ever seen, all jeans are gonna be a little baggy on him. Besides, those fit just fine. Better than his old ones.”

          Ian flushed a little at the particular focus of their attention. He asked in a rush, “Can I go change now?”

          “Yes, please,” Mickey said exasperatedly, at the same time as Fiona dismissed him with a simple, “Fine, fine. We have to go gift shopping next, I still have Lip and Carl to cover. Those boys don’t want _anything_. Nothing that magic can’t get them anyway.”

          Ian shut the door as he quickly stripped, but that didn’t stop him from hearing the conversation going on outside. Mostly it involved Debbie and Fiona debating with each other, fielding possible present ideas back and forth. Most of Mickey’s contribution seemed to be derisive snorts and harsh laughter; Ian was sure his expression was even more forthcoming of his discomfited disdain. Ian joined them again as quickly as he could.

          They ended up finding knick knacks for their other siblings for if they were really out of ideas, and Fiona promised to hit the one wizard shop in the area to make sure they couldn’t find something better. Ian brushed Mickey’s hand with his own now and again, knowing he was probably thinking about his family, unsure in which direction his thoughts were headed. Wondering if he was thinking of his siblings, or of someone else.

          Finally they hit the food court for lunch before they headed back home.  Fiona and Debbie split off to find burgers; Ian dragged Mickey along with him towards the sandwich place.

          “Sandwiches?” Mickey repeated, looking up at the sign with a frown.

          Ian arched a brow. “You can follow them if you want,” he said, jerking his chin towards where his sisters had gone.

          Mickey glanced behind him, apparently seriously considering that. Then he turned back towards Ian and sighed.

          “Can I get bacon on mine?”

          Ian’s smile was just a little bit smug when he turned to the cashier and ordered their food.

          Fiona and Debbie had found a table in the middle of the crowded area, and Ian squeezed his way towards them, holding their food tray high above his head to avoid spilling it or colliding with anyone.

          “So,” said Fiona, “what do you boys have planned for the rest of the day?”

          Ian shrugged, passing Mickey his sandwich. “Take a nap?” he suggested.

          Mickey scoffed, but Ian recognized his brand of condescension mixed with amusement anyway. He said, “I think Mandy wanted to see us later.”

          “See _you_ later,” Ian said.

          “Probably see _you_ later, actually,” said Mickey, shrugging. “But I told her I’d tag along anyway. No way I’m staying in your house alone while you go out with our friends.”

          Ian grinned and bumped his shoulder into Mickey’s. “It’s okay, you know. You can just admit you want to spend every second of the day with me. I won’t be creeped out.”

          Mickey elbowed him in the side, hard. Ian broke down laughing, even as he clutched at his new bruise and smacked feebly at Mickey’s head.

          Fiona and Debbie were watching them with vague amusement, and Ian flushed a little as he remembered their audience. Mickey seemed unperturbed, reaching over to steal one of Debbie’s fries. Ian could feel Mickey’s gaze on the side of his face as he turned to Fiona to ask how she had been spending her time while they were all gone.

          The ride home was loud; Debbie kept turning up the volume on the radio and they were all shouting to be heard over one another. Even though Mickey wasn’t really bothering to engage with the girls—he rarely did, even when conversation didn’t involve the effort of shouting—he did sometimes lean over to Ian’s seat to make a comment here or there, speaking directly into his ear and yelling to be heard. Ian didn’t mind the ride, but he was glad when they got back to the house and the blessed silence of winter met him again. The trees were barren, the snow settled, dirt and sticks poking through the white layer. He closed his eyes for a second when he got out of the car, breathing deeply. Even the air smelled like winter.

          Someone touched his arm; Ian opened his eyes. Fiona and Debbie had disappeared inside, and Mickey was watching him, fingers light on his arm and a smile warm on his face.

          “Enjoying yourself?”

          He was clearly making fun, but Ian wasn’t troubled.

          “Yes,” Ian said unabashedly. “Don’t you like it when the weather gets like this?”

          Mickey snorted. “We talking about the weather now?”

          Ian laughed and bumped his shoulder. “Don’t be a dick,” he said lightly. “I like winter.”

          “I can see that.” Mickey sniffed. “Fall’s better. Kinda warm still, but not sweltering anymore and I’m not freezing my ass off yet.”

          “Summer’s best.”

          Ian breathed deeply again.

          “Too hot.”

          “No one told you to wear jeans all the time.”

          “I look stupid in shorts,” Mickey said.

          When Ian looked away from the yard, into Mickey’s face, he saw that he had an eyebrow raised in amusement. Clearly Mickey didn’t know what they were doing any more than Ian did, standing outside on the front walk, the cold seeping in through their clothes, talking about the changing seasons.

          “No you don’t,” Ian teased lightly. “You have really nice legs.”

          Mickey gave a startled, disbelieving laugh, and he shoved at Ian’s arm. Ian grinned at him.

          “Nice arms too,” Ian went on, positively delighted with how red Mickey’s cheeks were getting. “Very strong. Not to mention—”

          “Can we please stop talking about this?” Mickey bit out. “I get it, you’re in love with me.”

          “You’re my _boyfriend_ ,” Ian said, not quite done with his teasing. He leaned into him, deftly encircling his arms around Mickey’s waist, unaffected when Mickey clawed at his wrists. “Of _course_ I’m in love with you.”

          Mickey slumped against him, apparently giving up on fighting.

          “Go ahead,” he said, somewhere between resigned and irritated. “Finish filling up your asshole quota for the day.”

          Ian laughed and pressed an exaggerated kiss to his cheek.

          “My boyfriend’s so good to me,” he sighed.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “You done?”

          Still grinning, Ian finally released him. He nodded.

          “For now,” he said simply, then turned on his heel and headed into the house. He heard Mickey sigh and follow him, and he held the door open for him. They traipsed into the living room together.

          Most of the family was in the living room, huddled up with blankets and pillows and each other, with the exception of Lip. Mickey made his way into the kitchen, and Ian followed. Lip was standing at the counter overseeing seven self-stirring mugs of hot chocolate. He turned when they entered; behind him, the stirring continued. Ian felt a surge of jealousy at the wand Lip was clutching in his hand, but it was quickly extinguished as Mickey brushed past him and Ian turned his attention to him instead.

          “Coming to watch the movie with us?” Lip asked.

          “Yep,” Ian said, despite having no idea what Lip was talking about. His focus was on Mickey’s back as he pulled the Tupperware of gingerbread cookies off the top of the fridge and fished a few out. “What’s on?”

          “Uh, I think Carl found A Christmas Carol. It’s only twenty minutes in.”

          Ian finally tore his gaze away and resettled it on his brother. “We’ll be out in a few,” he promised.

          Lip gave a jerky nod and charmed the mugs into the air, and they preceded him out of the kitchen. When he was gone, Ian turned back to Mickey. Mickey silently offered him one of the cookies he’d taken. Ian cracked a smile and took it.

          “We have spiked eggnog in the fridge,” he said, leaning against the door frame he hadn’t moved away from, “to get you through more family fun.”

          Mickey’s sigh of relief was audible, and he shoved the rest of his cookie into his mouth and yanked open the fridge. Once he had poured them each a cup, Ian jerked his head towards the living room and, ignoring how Mickey’s jaw tightened a little, they joined the rest of the family around the TV. Most of the chairs were occupied, but Ian found a seat on the couch and Mickey squeezed in between Ian and the armrest.

          The eggnog wasn’t strong enough for Ian to be drunk after one cup, but he still felt loose and warm when he was done. Mickey had chugged his back quickly, more quickly than Ian had. Ian watched him for a moment before shifting, tucking his feet underneath him and leaning most of his weight into Mickey. Mickey glanced at him, but after a second he wriggled his arm free and slipped it, low, around Ian’s waist. Ian slumped further down in his seat, and leaned his head onto Mickey’s shoulder. He was half tucked into his neck by now, but they breathed out in tandem, and Ian wasn’t sure that either of them cared. He knew he certainly didn’t.

          The movie wasn’t bad, even though Ian had seen it nearly every single Christmas he’d been alive; they mostly just left on a movie marathon all holiday, and Ian could practically recite all the films by heart by now. Still, this felt different—new—with Mickey wrapped around him, and he could tell that Mickey hadn’t been exposed to too much televised holiday cheer. He seemed genuinely interested in the movie, leaning closer when everyone’s chatter got louder than the plot, and despite Carl’s teasing that Mickey was Scrooge, Ian could tell that kindred spirits were not what was drawing Mickey into it.

          “Let’s have a marathon later,” Ian suggested suddenly, nearly an hour into it.

          Mickey startled slightly. Ian rolled his head to look up at him, still leaning on his shoulder.

          “What?”

          “A Christmas movie marathon,” he said. “After everyone goes to bed. Just you and me. I’ll show you all the classics.”

          Mickey sniffed. His attention drifted back to the television. “If you want, man.”

          Ian smiled to himself, snuggling closer to Mickey’s chest, and counted it a victory.

          He drifted during the movie, almost nodding off a several times, but Mickey seemed to know exactly when he was inching towards sleep and squeezed him around the middle right before he drifted off. Possibly he only didn’t want to be left alone with the Gallaghers, but either way Ian was grateful.

          When the credits started rolling, everyone seemed to rouse from a stupor. Ian blinked himself back to full consciousness and sat up. Mickey’s arm fell away. Everyone murmured vague excuses and slowly started to stand and drift off towards the kitchen or their bedrooms—except for Liam, who was curled up fast asleep on the armchair. When they were the only ones left, Ian turned to Mickey, stretching his arms out and groaning when his joints cracked.

          “When are we meeting Mandy?” he asked.

          Mickey shrugged. His mouth stretched in a yawn. “Three hours? Four? I think she wanted time to cook a thank you dinner for Sheila and Karen.”

          Ian nodded. He rubbed at his eyes, then glanced at Mickey. “Want to take that nap?”

          “God yes,” Mickey said.

          They managed to get up and head upstairs much more quickly after that, and Ian even took care to scoop up Liam and carry him up with them.

          They clamored into bed together, too tired to do anything with finesse. Ian fell asleep cramped against the wall, inches from where Mickey was sprawled out beside him on the small mattress. He fell asleep quickly.

          When he woke two hours later, Mickey was still passed out cold next to him. His mouth was hanging open a little and he had kicked the blankets off of him, and Ian gave a small smile to see him like this, careless and soft. The same tiny bursts of affection that always filled him when he saw Mickey so lax in sleep exploded in his stomach, sharper than usual with Mickey in his own bed. His stare lingered for a few seconds before he clamored over him and went to relieve himself in the bathroom.

          He went downstairs to grab a quick bowl of cereal as a snack. When he was done, he checked the time—they only had about an hour before Mandy wanted to meet up, so Ian went back upstairs to rouse Mickey.

          Mickey was still asleep, but he had flipped onto his stomach and was burrowing his face tightly into the pillow that Ian had been using. Ian kneeled beside him on the bed and set his hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently at first, and then harder.

          “Mick,” he said, gentle and coaxing him towards wakefulness. “Mickey…”

          Mickey grumbled incoherently and buried himself further into the pillow and the blankets.

          “Mickey,” Ian said again, louder, and redoubling his efforts to shake him awake.

          Mickey batted blindly at him, his movements slow and imprecise. Heaving a great sigh, Ian shifted up onto his knees and slung one leg over Mickey’s waist so he was sitting firmly on his lower back. The movement jolted and rocked the bed, and seemed to finally succeed in waking Mickey because after a second Ian heard his breathing shift into an arrhythmic measure, and he croaked,

          “What’s happening? What…Gallagher?”

          Ian dug his knees into the mattress, bouncing them a little again.

          “Time to get up, Mickey. You’ve been asleep for nearly three hours.”

          Mickey gave a weak scoff and turned his head, pressing his other cheek into the pillow. Ian saw his eyes drift closed.

          “Need at least one more,” Mickey mumbled.

          Ian was clearly losing him; he jabbed him hard in the side a few times and said loudly, “Get up, Mick! We’re meeting Mandy and Karen in less than an hour.”

          “Then I have thirty more minutes,” Mickey huffed.

          His arm snaked beneath the pillow, pulling it closer to his head. Ian briefly considered beating him with it. Instead, he sighed and starting poking at Mickey’s neck instead.

          “Get up, for fuck’s sake. You’re so useless.”

          “Mmf,” Mickey responded.

          Ian groaned, though he knew the effect was dampened by his slight laughter at Mickey’s sheer level of ridiculousness.

          “Get up, you asshole.” Ian pressed his hands hard into Mickey’s shoulderblades. “Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around? You forcing me out of bed? Have we been living this whole semester backwards?”

          Mickey lifted his mouth away from the pillow without opening his eyes. “No. No classes and who gives a shit about my sister?”

          “We do,” Ian reminded him impatiently. Then he said, “ _Ugh_ ,” and rolled off of Mickey, collapsing heavily on his back beside him instead.

          When he turned his head to look at Mickey, he had cracked an eye open and was watching Ian with a small smile tugging up the edges of his lips.

          “Always so dramatic,” he teased. His voice sounded rough with sleep, but he was definitely awake.

          “You asshole,” Ian scoffed, and he shoved Mickey off the bed.

          Mickey hit the floor with a dull thud, and then he shouted, “What the fuck!”

          Ian pushed himself up on one hand, glaring down at Mickey accusingly while Mickey rubbed his elbow and glowered right back.

          “You were awake this whole time!” Ian accused.

          Instead of rebutting him, Mickey smirked. Ian scoffed and flipped him off.

          “I thought we were gonna be late,” Mickey said in a lilted, mocking tone.

          Ian watched him clamor ungracefully to his feet and then start puttering around in his drawer, finding something suitable to wear. Ian reclined back on the pillows with his hands behind his head, content to watch for the moment since he was already dressed. Mickey barely turned as he threw on a pair of sweatpants instead, with the same t-shirt. Once he was ready, he jerked his head towards the door. Rolling his eyes, Ian levered himself off the bed and followed him downstairs.

          The day had gotten minutely warmer since they had last been outside, so Ian threw on a slightly lighter jacket and his scarf, forgoing the gloves this time. Mickey bundled up further, always a few degrees warmer in the winter and colder in the summer, inexplicably—he liked to complain about Ian making the bed swelter or pressing his cold feet against Mickey’s legs, to which Ian usually suggested he stop letting Ian get so tired in the Hufflepuff dorms that he no longer wanted to walk back to his own.

          “So,” Mickey said, once they had gotten out onto the front walk. He clapped his hands together and swung them around his body for a few seconds as he glanced up and down the street. “Where the fuck does Karen live?”

          Ian grinned and held open the gate for him.

          “This way,” he said, jerking his head in the Jacksons’ direction. Mickey wordlessly fell into step with him as they headed down the street.

          They were still late, albeit less so than Ian had expected them to be, by the time they made it to Karen’s front door and knocked loudly. They heard an abundance of shuffling from inside, and then the door cracked open and a woman with wild hair and a wilder expression poked her head through the tiny space she had made.

          Ian smiled easily at her, polite.

          “Hey, Sheila,” he said. “Karen and Mandy around?”

          “Ohh, Ian!” she cooed. “The girls are upstairs. Who’s this?”

          Ian’s smile grew a little more forced as he placed a hand on Mickey’s back and shuffled him into slightly greater prominence. “This is my boyfriend, Mickey.”

          Mickey afforded her a small, awkward nod.

          “Boyfriend? Oh, that’s just great. Karen mentioned that. So great.”

          She was beaming at them. From Mickey’s evident repulsion and bewilderment, Ian supposed she came off slightly creepy, but he had had far too much experience with her to be bothered by her eccentricity anymore. Instead, he just smiled and nodded at her while she instructed them to remove their shoes, and nudged Mickey a little when he hesitated.

          “Just do it,” Ian hissed.

          Mickey made a low noise of derision. “This is so weird,” he scoffed.

          Sheila appeared not to hear them. She collected their shoes into a Ziploc bag and dropped it just inside, then stepped back and ushered them in. She glanced up and down the street twice before shutting the door behind them.

          “Upstairs,” she repeated when she turned back to them. She pointed needlessly to the staircase right beside them. “Just down the hall, the door should be open. I’ll bring snacks up in a bit, okay?”

          “That sounds great, Mrs Jackson,” Ian said. Mickey grunted noncommittally beside him.

          Before he could do anything more Mickeylike and off-putting, Ian grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs, dropping his exaggerated smile as soon as Sheila shuffled away.

          “That woman is batshit crazy,” Mickey muttered.

          “Yeah, there’s a reason I never had you over here any of the summers you came to visit,” Ian whispered back. “Karen always met us by the corner store.”

          “Yeah, well, it’s becoming extremely obvious why.”

          Ian snorted a laugh in accord.

          He led the way down to Karen’s room and pushed open the partially ajar door. Only then did he realize he was still holding Mickey’s hand, and he hastily dropped it.

          The girls were sitting on Karen’s floor playing what seemed to be some kind of drinking game with cards and beer. They both turned when they heard the door squeak open.

          “Ian!” Mandy squealed. She jumped to her feet and threw her arms around his neck, and he laughed delightedly, lifting her slightly off the ground as he hugged her back.

          Ian set her down again and enveloped Karen in a hug next when she clamored to her feet. Beside them, Mandy and Mickey were exchanging a hug—less enthusiastic for sure, but embracing nevertheless.

          “Been a few days, asshole,” Mandy said, ruffling her brother’s hair.

          “You’ve disappeared to someone’s bed for longer than that,” Mickey retorted, tugging hard on her hair so that Mandy yelped.

          Karen was shaking her head at them.

          “Those two are impossible,” she muttered to Ian.

          Ian just grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed.

          When they were done fighting—Ian thought they were playing more than arguing, although he knew they would both take turns biting his head off if he ever so much as suggested it—the girls sat back down around their cards. Ian sat down across from Mickey, and Karen scrapped their game to reshuffle and deal between Ian and Mickey, too.

          “Okay,” Mickey said, once they all had their cards. “What the fuck are we playing?”

          Mandy explained the game while Karen uncapped beers for Ian and Mickey as well, and once they were ready, they all resettled and prepared to play.

          Karen was easily the best of them all; she beat them three times in a row, although Mandy was a close second and Mickey managed to scrape a game for himself as well. All in all, before an hour had passed, Ian had gulped down two beers and was well on his way to a third, and everything felt light and floaty and nice, softened by his friends’ laughter around him and the alcohol in his stomach.

          After Karen won another game, she and Mandy went downstairs to fetch more beers and Ian looked across the circle at Mickey, smiling dumbly.

          “Oh man,” Mickey laughed when he looked at him, “you’re pretty far gone, aren’t you?”

          Ian batted his hand away when Mickey leaned across to swipe a trickle of beer away from the corner of Ian’s mouth.

          “Fuck off,” Ian said, but he was grinning. “I’ve only had two and a half beers. I’m not drunk.”

          He wasn’t, actually; he just felt really, really good. Mickey’s face creased in an even wider smile and the pleasant feeling in Ian’s stomach dipped and heightened. He giggled.

          “You tipsy fuck,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “You’re obviously not drinking enough when we’re at school.”

          “Hey, that’s your fault!” Ian said. “Invite me to your weekly poker games, help build up my tolerance.”

          Mickey snorted. “I am absolutely not bringing your lightweight ass to my business meetings.”

          “ _Business meetings_ ,” Ian scoffed. “What the fuck, Mickey?”

          “Hey, I do some of my biggest deals at that poker table!”

          “Yeah, because everyone you play with is a scary asshole. Big bad crowd wants to be big bad men, they gotta do the big bad drugs.”

          “Women come too,” Mickey smirked.

          Ian huffed. “Everyone gets to come but me.”

          “Ian, even if you’d ever played poker,  I _know_ you haven’t played wizard poker and I _also_ know,” he added, waving a finger at Ian now, “that any one of those assholes would try to bet you as collateral long before they’d let you play.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “You’re playing with a bunch of students, Mick. Don’t make them out scarier than they are. They’re, what? Seventeen at most.”

          “And you think your skinny sixteen year old ass can handle that?”

          Ian scowled at him. “You just wish you were cool enough to play poker with a bunch of badasses. Makes you sound cool.”

          “What does Mickey think makes him sound cool?”

          The girls had returned with armfuls of drinks, and Mandy was watching them in amusement as she resettled herself in the circle.

          “If there’s one thing I know,” she said, grinning at them both, “it’s that my brother has never been cool a day in his life.”

          Mickey’s snarl looked more serious than it had during their faux argument as he reached out, trying to pinch his sister in the thigh.

          “Mickey’s the softest one here,” Karen agreed.

          Mickey scowled further. “Shut the fuck up.”

          “Oh, the baby wants quiet,” Mandy snickered. “The soft little baby.”

          “Fuck _off_ , Mandy!”

          “Aww, Mick,” Ian said, leaning across the cards to stroke his face gently. “I think you’re tough. Big, bad, tough Hufflepuff boy.”

          Mandy fell over laughing, and Karen was turning red. Ian joined in on their hysterics as Mickey slapped his wrist away, glaring.

          “Traitor,” he groused. “My own boyfriend. A traitor.”

          That only made Ian laugh harder.

          “My own boyfriend, a softie,” he mocked.

          Mickey turned his sneer on him instead. Soon after, Karen called for order, insisting that the best way for Mickey to get over this was to get even drunker. Shouting down his frustrated protests, she practically tipped the rest of his beer into his mouth and then cracked open another bottle for each of them. The game resumed; quickly, Mickey’s annoyance faded into his usual half-drunken laughter, and he leaned more and more heavily on Mandy as another half hour passed, then an hour.

          Finally, Mickey stumbled to his feet.

          “I need the fuckin’ bathroom,” he mumbled.

          Karen rose too, on equally shaky feet. “Me too. Go downstairs—first door off the kitchen, around the corner…Mom will show you where it is.” She burped loudly. “There’s one down the hall too, but I fucking call it.”

          With that, she turned and stumbled off out the hall. Mickey cursed and headed out after her. After a few seconds, Ian heard him ambling loudly down the staircase.

          When Ian turned back to Mandy, she was leaning with her head back against Karen’s dresser, her eyes closed and face up towards the ceiling. A small smile was gracing her lips, her expression relaxed and happy. Ian scooted over until he could bump her shoulder with his own.

          “Hey,” he said.

          She seemed to wake up, tilting her head in his direction and giving him a loose, easy smile. Then her eyes drifted shut again.

          “You two are ridiculous,” she said to the ceiling.

          Ian blinked at her. “What?”

          “You and Mickey—the two of you!” she said insistently. “God! Calling each other _boyfriend_ and teasing each other.”

          Ian stared at her, perplexed. “That was the plan, Mandy. Isn’t it a good thing that we’re selling it?”

          This time when she opened her eyes, she seemed much more awake, red eyes wide and judgmental. She turned her head to face him more completely.

          “Fucking is it though?” she asked. “Ian, _are_ you just selling it?”

          “What the hell does that mean?”

          “Jesus, Ian. Karen will believe you if you just fucking say it. Do you guys have to lay it on quite so thick? Or are you just doing it because you want to?”

          Ian’s eyes narrowed as confusion and defensiveness swirled inside him in a big, curious muddle, and he cleared his throat.

          “Why would I _want_ to be doing this?” he asked. “You think I get off on making Mickey uncomfortable? On constantly toeing the line on fucking things up between me and one of my best fucking friends? ‘Cause I don’t, Mandy. I don’t. You think I don’t realize how dangerous what we’re doing is?”

          She was suddenly all placation and reassurance, and she settled her hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. Her expression had melted into something a lot more compassionate than it had been during her accusations.

          “I know you do,” she assured him. “I didn’t mean that.”

          “Well, what _did_ you mean?” He didn’t mean to sound so vicious, but he could hardly help it.

          “I just…” She trailed off, sighed. “Be careful, Ian.”

          The alcohol loosening his limbs and the weariness of his flaring temper caught up to him then, and he sighed as he relaxed all at once.

          “I am being careful,” he assured her. _That’s all I’m being_ , he thought.

          Mandy smiled at him, a bit more naturally than before, but not entirely normal yet. Then she laughed, suddenly and wild.

          “God, you’re drunk, aren’t you?” Ian asked as a grin stretched his face without conscious thought. “You got drunk off five beers!”

          Mandy dissolved into more laughter, leaning heavily on his arm as she slumped sideways. “You got drunk off five too,” she accused. “Asshole!”

          Ian laughed too. “You’re the asshole,” he said, shoving at her playfully.

          She only laughed harder. When she straightened again, she grinned over at him, loose and happy.

          “So it’s going well?” she pressed. “Despite everything?”

          Ian rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder into hers again. He was still grinning though, feeling easy and peaceful. His gaze found Karen’s bedroom door, still open after she and Mickey had disappeared through it. He softened infinitesimally.

          “It’s going really, really well,” he said.

          Even to himself, he sounded just a little bit confused. To his right, he could feel Mandy’s gaze on his profile, unblinkingly steady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [xoxox](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/135812491710)


	9. mistletoe blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re pretending to be boyfriends,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “I kind of figured something like this was coming. What?” he added at the look on Ian’s face. “You didn’t think we’d get off scot-free just by holding hands and sitting a little close together on the couch for a month, did you?”  
> Ian leveled him with a disbelieving look. He was less than impressed by Mickey’s argument. Something was off.  
> “You’re telling me,” he said flatly, “that you expected we’d have to kiss?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, it's been a rough one these past few weeks - months, really - as far as finding motivation to write this fic goes. but i've never written a real, lengthy multichap before, so never fear. in or out of fandom, i'm determined to see this through to the end.
> 
> xoxox

          Ian woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and his arm draped over a warm body. He lifted his head and peered over at whomever it was, squinting in the harsh brightness of Karen’s bedroom ceiling lights that they hadn’t shut off before all passing out in a pile on her floor. He spit black hair out of his mouth and squinted down at Mandy’s sleeping form draped against him, her breathing slow and steady and deep. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, wobbling a little as he regained his equilibrium. He stumbled in the direction of Karen’s bathroom, hoping to rinse out the bitter taste of beer that lingered in his mouth.

          When he opened the door to the bathroom down the hall, it stopped halfway ajar. Behind it came a grunt and a curse.

          “Fuck, _what_?” A head peeked around the door then, and Ian squinted at the overbearing combination of noise and natural light as Mickey’s annoyed expression melted into something calmer and he pulled the door open wider.  “Oh. Ian.”

          “Morning,” he mumbled, joining Mickey inside.

          They jostled around each other while taking turns sticking their mouths under the sink. Mickey unearthed toothpaste and they took turns swilling that around, too, sharing the minute space and catching sleepy glances of each other in the mirror, but not speaking. Ian felt comfortable anyway—well, as comfortable as he could, hungover in somebody else’s house. When he felt he had cleaned up as much as he could without a shower and his own toiletries, he shooed Mickey out so he could relieve himself and then joined him in heading back towards Karen’s room to redress in that same amicable silence and take their leave. Sheila had left their shoes right beside the front door, thankfully, and they managed to creep out unnoticed without too much trouble.

          After piling into the house together and pushing past each other to shower, he and Mickey didn’t see too much of each other over the course of the day; Mickey was eating while Ian was playing with the kids, or Mickey was smoking cigarettes on the porch while Ian was getting high upstairs with Lip, or Ian went on a run while Mickey napped. After a short dinner everyone split off to do their own thing and Mickey opted to stay at the house while Ian went out to the Alibi with Karen to finally make up for not telling her about him and Mickey sooner, and make good on his promise of getting her laid in penance. Although they didn’t talk about the purpose of their outing together, Karen ended up buying him a few rounds anyway, so he knew he was finally, fully forgiven. He even fulfilled his semi-joking promise of being her wingman so she could go home with a tall brunette girl, which she did, smirking and waggling her fingers over her shoulder as they left together. Ian went home ten minutes later, paying for the last of their drinks and sighing. He was buzzed, but he had spent more money buying Karen drinks than himself and he didn’t even have the chance to get laid in the process. Actually, considering that he was supposedly dating Mickey, he wouldn’t get laid for a long time.

          Ian sighed. He wound his scarf around his neck and shoved his hands in his pockets as he finally headed home.

          The house was dark when he reentered it; Ian crept up the stairs towards his bedroom, because even his siblings’ delayed bedtimes couldn’t rival Karen’s ability to stay out as late as necessary so she could go home with somebody. Still, he saw a light creeping underneath his bedroom door and exhaled in relief as he pushed it open wider.

          Carl and Liam were passed out, both adorably mirrored on their backs with their arms flung out and their mouths open. Ian took a moment to grin at his brothers’ twin positions before turning to his own tiny bed, where Mickey was sitting up against his pillows, miraculously still awake.

          Mickey shut the book he had been reading when Ian entered, closing his thumb between the pages to mark his place. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked over at Ian.

          “How was the bar?” he asked.

          Ian gave a one-shouldered shrug, already beginning to undress. He stripped off his jeans and long sleeves and started rifling around his drawer for pajamas.

          “It was okay,” he said. “Karen found some girl to go home with. Definitely beneath her league, but whatever. She was tall. And my debt is finally paid, so. That was good.”

          Mickey scoffed. Ian smiled as he tugged on some flannel pajama bottoms and dug through his piles of clothes for a loose t-shirt.

          “How was your night?” Ian asked.

          Mickey didn’t scoot over, so Ian climbed over him and wriggled beneath the covers between Mickey and the wall, paying his disgruntled mumbling no mind. Mickey didn’t lay down with him, and Ian looked up at him as he pillowed his cheek against his arm.

          “Boring,” Mickey answered. “Fiona wanted to play board games.”

          A grin broke out on Ian’s face. “And did you?”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “I let her drag me into one game of _Sorry_ then told her she’d _be_ sorry if the next game she made me play wasn’t a drinking game. Then I left them to it.”

          Ian grinned still harder. “Who won?”

          Mickey smacked his shoulder with his closed book. “Shut up,” he said, while Ian laughed. Then he admitted, “…Debbie.”

          “Ah, I knew it!” Ian burrowed further beneath the blankets, covering the entirety of his bare arms since the pervasive cold was starting to get to him. Even with their (admittedly shoddy) heating system, something about winter brought a perpetual, bone-deep chill. “Debbie’s way too smart for all of us. Except maybe Lip, but he’s more academics and she’s more…”

          “Street smart?” Mickey suggested. Ian nodded. “Yeah, I fucking noticed. As if I needed the six year long lecture on nonverbal spells she tried to give me.”

          “But did you learn anything?” Ian teased.

          Mickey rolled his eyes again. “That kid should be a fucking professor, seriously. That shit is ridiculous. Isn’t she like, nine?”

          “About to turn thirteen,” Ian said.

          Mickey made a soft _hmm_ noise but didn’t respond, and after a second Ian stopped studying the side of his face and pressed a little closer, cushioning his cheek against Mickey’s arm instead. He nudged him slightly with his nose, and Mickey sighed and finally slid down the bed a little so that Ian could more comfortably fit himself against Mickey’s shoulder.

          “How long are you gonna be up reading?” Ian asked innocently.

          Mickey gave him a long, _you’ve got to be kidding me_ look and Ian just blinked up at him, wide eyed and guileless. Finally, Mickey sighed.

          “Let me finish this chapter,” he said eventually.

          Ian smiled a little and closed his eyes obediently.

          After maybe ten more minutes, he heard Mickey closing the book and rustling around—he assumed putting it on the bedside table and shutting off the light. Ian kept his breathing slow and even as Mickey resettled, wrapping Ian’s arm around his waist instead and pressing closer, resting his cheek against Ian’s temple. Ian wrapped himself more closely around him and breathed out, feeling Mickey exhale slowly too. He felt Mickey fall asleep in increments beside him, but didn’t fall asleep himself until he felt Mickey relax completely against him.

 

\- - -

 

          The morning wasn’t slow, but Ian felt like _he_ was. He took nearly forever to actually drag himself out of bed, and even then only with Mickey’s impatient goading and his insistence that if he didn’t come down for breakfast, Mickey wasn’t saving him anything and he really didn’t want to deal with Ian going hungry all day so if Ian could please for once in his life not be a lazy asshole, that would be great. Eventually, and only with Mickey’s fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, Ian stumbled out of his (warm, comfortable, calling for him) bed and down the stairs behind Mickey. Mickey poured him two cups of coffee and pushed a plate of pancakes in front of him.

          “Why the special treatment?” Ian asked, revived slightly by his first cup of coffee and starting in on his second as he swirled a forkful of pancake around in the pool of syrup Mickey had poured on his plate.

          “No special treatment, just trying to get a move on,” said Mickey. He was sitting beside him but had already eaten, and as such was just watching Ian eat his own breakfast with his chin propped in his hand and an unreadable expression on his face as he kept on staring.

          Ian didn’t even swallow as he asked, around a mouthful of pancake and coffee, “We doing something special today?”

          “Wanna go into town.” Mickey scratched at his eyebrow, then seemed to relent as he added, “Figured we should do something for Christmas, you know? It’s in a week. I haven’t gotten you anything and I know you haven’t gotten me anything either.”

          Ian frowned. “How did you know that?”

          Mickey shrugged; he seemed completely unabashed when he admitted, “I searched your room. And I asked your brother.”

          Ian huffed, upset. “I’m getting you something,” he insisted. “Now it just seems—”

          “Oh, don’t give me that.” Mickey waved him off. He reached out and smoothed out the stubborn set of Ian’s chin with his thumb. Ian was more grumpy than put out when Mickey flicked his thumb over his bottom lip next and then pulled back with an easy grin. “I’m not mad. Now we can get each other something and no one feels weird that they didn’t spend enough, or too much, or whatever.”

          Ian had to admit, Mickey had a point. Mickey seemed much happier once he had Ian’s acquiescence, and he instructed him to finish up by himself as he hauled himself to his feet and disappeared up the stairs. He didn’t come back; Ian finished eating alone and cleaned up, then headed up after Mickey. He found him reading the same book that he’d been working on all break, apparently just catching snippets here and there and making very little progress, by Ian’s estimation. Ian got dressed and Mickey jumped up to join him as they headed down to the foyer to pull on their coats.

          A light snow had begun, as Ian saw when he warded the doors behind them and joined Mickey down on the sidewalk. He rubbed his arms a little, getting feeling back into them and as well as his hands. As soon as they climbed into the van, Ian cranked up the heat all the way and sped off down the street.

          “What were you thinking?” Ian asked as they approached town. He glanced sideways when he felt Mickey’s gaze sliding over his face. He quickly added, “Of getting me, I mean.”

          Mickey shrugged. He was picking at his nails and seemed coolly disinterested in the conversation all of a sudden. Then he looked up at Ian again.

          “I don’t know,” he said, and he even sounded honest. “I figured we could just look around or something.”

          Ian hummed his agreement as he (badly) parallel parked on the side of the road, and they clamored out, back into the chilly late-morning air. Ian wondered briefly if Mickey would mind holding hands as an excuse to warm up, then remembered that they were alone out in public and had no one to pretend in front of. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets instead.

          The main area of town—the place with shopping centers and movie theaters and _wholesome_ things to do, meaning that Ian had little to no experience in this part of town—was filled with people milling about, but not packed enough that Ian was overwhelmed with the urge to go home instead. Mickey looked a little antsier, but Ian took the lead, plucking at his sleeve and leading him in a random direction, and Mickey seemed to relax more and more the further they walked. They passed a few stores filled with clothing and food but continued on, barely even glancing inside the wide, clear storefront windows.

          As they passed the large entrance to a simple convenience store, Ian was pulled to a sudden stop as Mickey tugged harshly on his arm. Ian staggered to a halt, then turned his attention to Mickey. Mickey raised his eyebrows significantly and nodded his head in the direction of the store. Ian looked back impassively. Mickey grinned and slipped his hand through the crook of Ian’s elbow, linking their arms together as he tugged them towards the door and led him inside.

          The store was relatively empty. It was an exceptionally small convenience store, the kind where everything looked a little battered and even the walls seemed rundown. Ian glanced around and then settled his confused gaze on Mickey’s face, wondering exactly where he was going with all of this. Mickey just shrugged and unlinked their arms as he meandered further into the little store. Ian followed listlessly behind, lacking any real destination and unsure exactly what he was looking for beyond the simple idea of something for Mickey.

          Mickey wandered back into the snacks section, and Ian was sure his mind had traveled beyond Christmas as he stocked several tiny packets of food into his arms and glanced at Ian with a goofy smile. Ian just rolled his eyes and helped compile more and more snacks, mostly at Mickey’s direction. They headed up to the register together and spilled it all on the little glass counter between them and the cashier.

          The cashier was short on change or something, Ian wasn’t really listening—all he knew was that he headed into the back, and then Mickey was raising his eyebrows at Ian and glancing pointedly at the back wall. Ian scanned the packets of cigarettes and then looked back at Mickey.

          “What are you doing?” he hissed.

          Mickey grinned. “Being a good boyfriend,” he whispered back.

          Before they could exchange anymore hushed words, Mickey dug his hand into his jacket pocket and unearthed his wand; Ian clamped both hands around Mickey’s forearm, a thrill shooting through him as he glanced nervously at the door marked _Employees Only_ through which their cashier had disappeared and then back at Mickey with an excited, anxious expression. He felt almost giddy when he whispered hoarsely, “Do it!”

          Mickey was getting better at nonverbal spells, that much was clear. He waved his wand around in the air between them and said nothing, though his narrowed gaze was fixed on the wall behind the counter. A second later, two packets of Marlboro Reds whizzed through the air, and Ian reached up just in time to snag them before they whacked Mickey square in the face. They exchanged exhilarated glances as Ian shoved them deep into his pocket, just as the cashier wandered back out of the back room, counting change in his hand and paying their suddenly flushed faces no attention.

          As soon as they were out in the open air, Ian tugged Mickey along in a rush until they were a few storefronts down. Then he dug the cigarettes out of his pocket and tore off the wrapping. He plucked one cigarette out of each packet and slotted one between Mickey’s parted lips before perching the other between his own.

          Mickey grinned as Ian lit his cigarette and used the cherry to light Mickey’s as well.

          “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled around the stick in his mouth. He bumped his shoulder to Ian’s; his smirk was wide.

          Ian laughed breathlessly as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

          “Merry Christmas,” he laughed.

 

\- - -

 

          Snow was falling all around them in soft, thick tufts as they stood side by side on the front porch, leaning against the railing and looking out onto the street. Ian glanced sideways at Mickey and huffed around the cigarette he was smoking, the third in the pack they had stolen for each other a few days earlier.

          “God, this is amazing,” Ian breathed happily.

          “Talk about a fucking Winter Wonderland,” said Mickey. He sounded less impressed, but Ian could tell it was mostly just an apathetic front, and he laughed—Mickey rolled his eyes in response.

          “Isn’t it great?” Ian said, completely seriously.

          Mickey breathed out his own cloud of smoke. “Better than making _another_ fucking Christmas playlist with your little sister,” he scoffed. “Or baking with Liam. Shouldn’t that kid be two hundred pounds by now?”

          “He doesn’t eat all the cookies, Mickey.”

          “Yeah, but he eats all the leftover frosting.”

          “Aww, you jealous? I’ll save you some frosting next time.”

          Mickey flipped him off, rolling his eyes. Ian bumped his shoulder into Mickey’s again and just grinned, gaze glued to Mickey’s profile despite the fact that Mickey wasn’t looking at him, too busy staring out at the street and watching the snow fall into a delicate coating on the pavement, only occasionally disturbed by the rare passing car.

          They were quiet for a while, smoking their cigarettes down almost to the filter and watching the snowflakes drift down to cover the earth. Every now and then they stole glances at one another, but neither of them said anything. Mickey finally threw the end of his cigarette down to the porch and stepped on it, digging it into the wood with the toe of his shoe. Ian snorted at him around his own nearly-finished cigarette, and Mickey leaned back against the porch rail, facing the other way and watching Ian finish. Ian stared back steadily.

          “You can’t avoid going inside forever,” he said, mostly amused.

          Mickey shook his head. “I can try,” he said smartly. “I can wait until you’re done, at least.”

          Ian grinned over at him.

          “Come on, decorating the tree isn’t _that_ bad.”

          “I ain’t going in without you,” Mickey insisted. Ian rolled his eyes and brought the cigarette back to his lips to hide his laughter around another drag.

          “You’re a child,” Ian accused. A tiny smile toyed against the edges of his mouth. “A big, terrified _child_.”

          Mickey made a flicking gesture at him. “Would you stop calling me that? It makes you sound pretty creepy.”

          Ian’s brow creased. “Makes _me_ sound creepy?”

          Then a smile lit up across Mickey’s face, bright and beautiful as it spread between his cheeks. He seemed extremely pleased with himself when he said, his voice sounding all distorted around his parted lips, “Yeah, you…since you’re my boyfriend and all.”

          Ian burst out a short laugh, caught off guard, and he shoved Mickey’s shoulder, making him lean a little away from him before he swayed back close. Mickey was grinning, eyes shining delightedly, while Ian laughed and leaned into him as well.

          “Fuck right off.” Ian grinned at him, smoked some more. “Nobody’s out here, asshole.”

          “So?”

          “So…fuck right off!” Ian chuckled. “That boyfriend joke doesn’t even make any _sense_ when it’s just you and me.”

          Mickey grinned as well. “Still funny though.”

          Ian snorted but didn’t answer. Mickey poked him in the side.

          “Huh? Huh? Admit I’m fucking funny.”

          “Fuck off!” Ian repressed a laugh, batting at Mickey’s wrist.

          “Admit it!”

          “No!”

          Mickey just fell back laughing instead of pressing the point further, but he seemed satisfied, probably because Ian was laughing too and thus clearly solidifying his opinion.

          Eventually, Ian was forced to admit that he, too, was putting off breaking this moment with Mickey and going back inside, because he was sucking at what was mainly filter by this point. He tossed the rest of it into the snowy yard and turned around, catching Mickey’s eye as he headed for the door. Mickey heaved a great sigh, the bubbling joy from a moment before now forgotten, and wordlessly followed him back inside.

          The others were still working on putting up the tree when they reentered the living room, brushing snow from their hair and throwing their jackets over the banister of the stairs. As Ian looked over, Mickey reached to sweep some stray flakes of white from Ian’s hair, and Ian grinned at him in return.

          Their tree was stood up in the corner, reaching up to just a few feet short of the ceiling and half-covered in glittering lights and a smattering of inartistically-placed silver tinsel. Ian cast an amused look over at the corner and then turned to where Fiona was snuggled up with Liam beneath a blanket on the couch.

          “It looks good,” Ian lied lamely.

          Fiona snorted. “It looks like a regular old Gallagher Christmas tree,” she agreed. “Hey, don’t you boys try to sneak off right now. I need you back here in ten minutes to help put the ornaments up on it.”

          Ian shared a look with Mickey; Mickey rolled his eyes. In a monotone, Ian said, “Yes, Fiona,” and then gestured for Mickey to follow him as they trudged into the kitchen.

          Mickey headed for the spiked eggnog; Ian went to fetch a couple of Debbie’s latest batch of cookies. There were always a few tins up on top of the fridge, during the holidays at least, and he found some sugar cookies frosted to look like snowmen and pulled them down. Mickey grunted his thanks as they both dug in.

          “At least we got out of the second half of putting up tinsel,” Ian offered. He dipped his cookie into his cup of eggnog and nibbled on the soaked end of it.

          Mickey snorted and shoved an entire cookie into his mouth.

          “We’re still on decoration duty,” he said, spitting crumbs that Ian then brushed off the counter.

          Ian shrugged. “Could be worse.”

          After three more cookies and their second cup of eggnog apiece, Fiona called for them to come back to the living room. They exchanged meaningful glances and Mickey dumped their dishes in the sink while Ian shoved the cookie tin back on top of the refrigerator, and then they trudged back into the living room together, bumping shoulders every few steps and shooting each other dejected glances. Ian liked decorating for Christmas just fine—it was actually one of his favorite holidays—but Fiona had gone a little overboard this year and he was getting a little filled up on family fun. He knew she was just doing it because this was getting to be one of the first Christmases that Liam could actually remember, but he was still more than tempted to hide under one of the many Santa hats they had lying around and sleep until the new year.

          Ian immediately went over to one of the boxes they had strewn around the tree and set about passing various ornaments over to Mickey for him to pass on to Debbie so she could position them around the tree. They didn’t really have any sentimental ornaments, save for one that Kev gave them one year that was just a beer bottle framed over the words _The Alibi_ , but they had plenty of ugly-colored balls and glittering snowflakes with which to cover the tree.

          Debbie quickly grew tired of their decorating arrangement and she huffed, blowing hair out of her face and glaring at the boys sternly. Her hands were set on her waist in the well-known Gallagher pose suggesting that she meant business.

          “You’re barely doing anything,” she said, gesticulating angrily in Ian’s direction. “Even Mickey’s nodding in a general direction I should hang these up. Come on, come on, get up,” she added, ignoring his protests entirely, “and both of you help me do the rest of this.”

          “Why is no one else helping?” Ian groused, because Fiona was busy laughing hysterically on the couch while Liam climbed all over her asking what was so funny, and Lip and Carl were nowhere to be found—pretty conveniently, in Ian’s opinion.

          Debbie crossed her arms, looking smug. “Carl and Lip are on a mission for fairy lights and more baking supplies. Did you want to go with _them_?”

          Ian and Mickey both muttered their declinations and shuffled around each other to help Debbie hang more ornaments on the tree. Aside from the Christmas music humming from the little radio in the corner of the room—plus Liam happily trying to sing along to the carols and Fiona tickling his sides and mumbling some of the lyrics—they were all relatively quiet as the three of them worked, although Debbie sometimes chimed in for the more popular songs and Ian caught himself humming along to a few, to many a sidelong glance from Mickey.

          They were making relatively good time, and Ian thought that with the tinsel and lights hanging off the tree, the ornaments—though strung up haphazardly and senselessly scattered—looked pretty carelessly artistic, in a way. He was starting to feel that usual holiday cheer bubble up in his chest when they had just over two-thirds of the ornaments hung on the tree, and he even joined in on singing a few of the tunes from the radio.

          He was just hanging a small ornament—given to them by one of the daycare mothers as a thank-you—on a bough near the top when Mickey bumped into his back. Ian turned his head to look at him as Mickey mumbled an apology, but his careless “sorry” was overridden by Debbie as she started to giggle. They both looked at her. She clapped a hand over her mouth. The sound alerted Fiona, who also promptly began to laugh.

          “What?” Mickey asked.

          Debbie took her hand away from her grin, and jerked her head up towards the ceiling. Hanging directly above their heads, right over the tiny space separating their bodies, hung a small bundle of mistletoe.

          Ian dropped wide eyes to Mickey’s face, who was staring at him right back with similar alarm written all over his features. Dimly, Ian recognized how suspicious their panicked hesitance seemed, especially when he normally would have laughed and given any real boyfriend a cursory peck on the lips. Instead they just stood there, sharing the same look of mild discomfort and anxiety, and waited for the other to unfreeze.

          In reality, he knew they had only been looking at each other a few seconds, but he felt like he and Mickey had spent an eternity in a silent standoff when Liam started clapping and he cheered, “Kiss him! Ian, kiss him!”

          Ian raised his eyebrows a bit, but he softened into a small smile at his family’s amused encouragement. As he was reminded of the others’ presence, the moment faded into near inconsequentiality—this was just a game, just an act they were putting on for the family’s and for Mickey’s sake—except that it wasn’t, it could never be, nothing. Mickey quirked him a barely-there smile right back and Ian weaved his fingers through Mickey’s hair and leaned down into a soft, small kiss.

          Ian’s eyes were closed, which made for a remarkably easy time of focusing on his sisters’ delighted laughter and his littlest brother’s embarrassed giggling. Still, he couldn’t help but focus on Mickey’s lips, the shape of them, the soft but still chapped feel of them, and he pressed closer for a brief moment before pulling away.

          They just looked at each other for a moment, and then they each gave a small, awkward chuckle. Mickey’s face was blushing a light, pinkish shade, and he didn’t seem to be really looking at Ian if he could help it, although his gaze darted back to Ian’s face every couple of seconds as though involuntarily. Ian didn’t notice Mickey’s hand bunched into the back of his shirt until he let him go, and that reminded him to untwist his hand from Mickey’s hair in return. They stepped apart hastily, and Ian cast his gaze around the rest of the room instead.

          Fiona was smirking at them, clearly pleased with the discomfited look on her brother’s face that he hoped she was merely attributing to a distaste for public affection, despite Ian never having a problem with it—more than that, despite his usual tendency for it—before. Debbie flashed him a similarly pleased smile before she turned around and got back down to business. Ian resolved to only make brief, awkward eye contact with Mickey for the remainder of setting up the tree, and he mostly succeeded. As long as he didn’t make it weird, he reasoned, it wouldn’t be weird.

          That didn’t, of course, stop Ian from making it weird.

          As soon as they were released from his sisters’ regime, he hastened up the stairs, gesturing for Mickey to follow behind him. He did, closely enough to step on the back of Ian’s feet a few times as they made a break for his room before anyone could call them back for any more uncomfortable family activities. Ian felt like he was breathing harder than necessary when he finally shut the door to his bedroom behind him, the same feeling beating in his chest as he had had as a child running from the bathroom before the monsters in the dark could catch up behind him.

          Mickey was already sitting on his bed, twirling his wand around between his fingers in what Ian had come to recognize as a somewhat nervous gesture—giving his hands something to do to keep his mind occupied. Ian hesitantly sat down beside him. Mickey didn’t shift away or seem alarmed; actually, he barely looked up, even when Ian spoke.

          “Well, that was—”

          “God, when will you _ever_ find your chill?”

          Ian blinked at Mickey, surprised. “What?”

          Mickey finally looked up at him. Ian was confused, as well as a bit put off, by the easy, relaxed smile on Mickey’s face. Mickey put down his wand, only to light up a cigarette instead from the pack lying on Ian’s bedside table.

          “Christ, Gallagher, it was just a kiss,” he mumbled around his smoke. “Like you’ve never kissed your friends before? Mandy, Karen—you’ve never kissed either of the girls?”

          Ian arched an eyebrow. He was right, of course, but Ian was less than convinced by his tone. “And you don’t—”

          “We’re pretending to be boyfriends,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “I kind of figured something like this was coming. What?” he added at the look on Ian’s face. “You didn’t think we’d get off scot-free just by holding hands and sitting a little close together on the couch for a month, did you?”

          Ian leveled him with a disbelieving look. He was less than impressed by Mickey’s argument. Something was off.

          “You’re telling me,” he said flatly, “that you expected we’d have to _kiss_? In front of everyone?”

          Mickey rolled his eyes again. “Well, I didn’t know it would be kissing. But yeah, I figured we’d have to, you know—pretend and stuff. Relationships aren’t all cuddling in bed and shit, Ian. I’ve never even had a boyfriend and _I_ know that much.”

          Ian shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

          Mickey was still smiling. “And you’re too fucking easy.”

          Ian didn’t know what to say to that. He just made a scoffing sound with his throat, flopped backwards onto his bed, and took the smoke when Mickey offered it to him.

 

          Later, when he relayed what had happened to Mandy, she laughed around the milkshake she was sipping and kicked him under the table at the diner where Ian had bought her fries and her drink for dinner.

          “You two,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “My god. I mean, I knew—but you’re already kissing? Seriously?”

          Ian blinked at her. “Knew what? No, listen, Mandy—I’m just saying, shouldn’t he be a _little_ weirded out by this? I mean, he seems totally fine. Don’t you think it’s just a little off?”

          “Off?” Mandy repeated blankly. “Why would it be off? You’ve kissed me, you’ve kissed Karen. Fuck, I’ve kissed you—I’ve kissed Karen, too. None of us thought it meant anything then. Why would kissing Mickey be off?”

          Ian slumped his shoulders as he leaned further into the table. He swiped one of Mandy’s fries, dodging her as she slapped at his hand in reproach, and dragged it through the ketchup on her plate before popping it into his mouth. After, he sucked the salt off his fingers.

          “Just seems odd,” Ian said finally. “I mean, he seemed a little _too_ okay with it, you know?”

          “No,” Mandy said, drawing out the word so that Ian felt like even more of an idiot. Then she cracked a grin. “God, what about you?”

          Ian arched an eyebrow, his concerns not placated, but momentarily overshadowed by offense. “Me? What about me?”

          Mandy threw her arms out. “What about you! Do _you_ feel weird about it?”

          Ian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean…no? No, of course I don’t. But—”

          “But nothing! If you don’t feel weird, why should he?”

          “Because I’m _normal_ ,” Ian said, exasperated. “I can tell the fucking difference between kissing for fun and kissing because it means something. Mickey’s—”

          “Careful,” Mandy growled.

          “—a repressed little shit,” Ian finished, laughing when Mandy reached out and smacked him on the wrist. “Mickey’s the most subtle drama queen I’ve ever laid eyes on. I expected him to freak a little.”

          “About kissing you?” Mandy scoffed. “My, my. Someone’s thinking a little highly of themselves today.”

          Ian kicked her in the shin and rolled his eyes.

          “Stop looking so smug and obnoxious,” he demanded. “God, you’ve been hanging out with Karen too much. The two of you are too fucking much to handle when you’ve been feeding each other nothing but bitchiness and superiority for two weeks straight.”

          Mandy laughed. “Whatever. Two weeks with Mickey and _you’re_ getting ruder and gayer by the minute.”

          By the time they were done throwing french fries at each other, they were laughing too hard and too busy being kicked out of the diner, and Ian forgot what had had him so concerned in the first place.

 

          The Gallagher house was quiet when Ian returned, or as quiet as it ever got. Lip, Debbie, and Carl were huddled beneath blankets in the living room, sipping out of mugs and chattering lowly. Ian could hear Fiona upstairs listening to music that was audible through the ceiling, just a vague beat and unintelligible lyrics.

          He wandered up the stairs and found Mickey lying in his bed, dressed in sweats and one of his stained tank tops but resting on top of the sheets. He had his glasses on again, slipped low down his nose as he read his book. He looked up when Ian came in. Ian smiled gently at him and leaned his hip against the doorframe. Mickey let his book fall onto his chest, still open to his page.

          “Hey,” Ian said. “Having fun?”

          Mickey gave a little shrug, with a smile playing at the edges of his slack mouth. Finally he said, “It’s a good book.”

          Ian jerked his head, gesturing out towards the hallway and, beyond that, downstairs.

          “Gonna sit and hang out for a bit. Wanted to see if you wanted to come down and join me.”

          As soon as he said it, he recognized the futility of the request. In all likelihood, Mickey would decline and continue enjoying and entertaining himself on his own, much as he probably had been doing while Ian had been out getting dinner and hanging out with Mandy all evening. He was just about to dip his head and retreat when, to his surprise, Mickey shrugged and marked his page.

          “Sure,” he said. He put the book down and slid out of bed, padding past Ian so that he was leading the way down the hall. Confusion and contentment quarreled in Ian’s stomach as he followed Mickey down the stairs.

          They found an empty spot on the couch when they headed downstairs, and squeezed into it together. Ian lifted a hand towards his brother and caught the spare blanket Lip threw at him, and dragged it over him and Mickey both as he leaned into Mickey’s side. Mickey’s arm slid around his waist, low, nearly on top of his hips. Ian hummed quietly and pressed even closer.

          The fire was roaring, the moon already high in the sky and the entire household permeated with an identical mixture of serenity and drowsiness. Lip was sipping at something steamy from a mug decorated in snowflakes and Debbie was wrapped in three blankets, two of which she shared with Carl beside her.

          “How was Mandy?” Debbie asked, peering over at Ian and looking incredibly relaxed and warm.

          “Doing well,” Ian yawned. He had only just sat down, but his bones were already beginning to feel heavier. He managed to quirk a smile. “Wouldn’t stop talking about kissing Karen.”

          “She _what_?” said Lip, sounding suddenly much more awake as he broke into the conversation, while Mickey choked a laugh next to him.

          Ian laughed. “Calm your dick, god. I’m kidding.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Like you’ve never kissed any of your friends.”

          Lip stared at him. “I can’t say that I have,” he said, watching Ian carefully. “Because that’s, you know. _Insane_.”

          Mickey scoffed. “It’s not that weird,” he said.

          “Not if you’re gay,” Lip muttered. “Or bi, you know—whatever. That’s not really a straight people thing.”

          Mickey’s brows were doing that thing where they neared his hair again, and Ian smirked.

          “I knew straight people were missing out on something,” he teased.

          Debbie rolled her eyes. “It’s not _that_ weird,” she told Lip, echoing Mickey. “Platonic kissing is perfectly normal between people who are comfortable with themselves and their relationships.”

          Lip just shook his head. “Whatever. I’m completely secure but I’m not gonna go around kissing my friends. I’ll save that for the women I’m fucking, thanks.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “It’s not always sexual, Lip.”

          “Sometimes it’s not,” he sniffed. He sipped at his mug. “But usually it is.”

          Silence reigned for a few seconds, and then Carl said, looking totally confused, “Wait—how can you tell the difference then? Between fun and, you know, sex?”

          Ian shrugged. He glanced at Mickey—he didn’t know for what, he wasn’t really expecting help or anything—and then back at his brother. He clutched his blanket a little tighter around him.

          “You can just tell,” he said finally.

          Carl was still watching him shrewdly, evidently not yet satisfied. Actually, he was watching _them_ —him and Mickey beside each other. Then he asked, “So is it always sexual with Mickey, or is it platonic sometimes?”

          Ian glanced at Mickey again, a bit more startled this time. He felt Mickey’s hand close over his beneath their blanket. Ian breathed out and looked back at his brother.

          “No, it’s—it’s always—I mean, it’s romantic sometimes.” He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand. “I mean, it can be a lot of different things. But since we’re—we’re, you know, dating…it’s never just friends with Mickey.” Ian cleared his throat. “Uh—not anymore, you know.”

          Debbie broke in, “So did you guys kiss before you were boyfriends then?”

          Ian gave a helpless jerk of his shoulders. “Drunk people do all sorts of weird shit, Debs.”

          “Wasn’t always drunk,” Mickey muttered.

          They all looked at him.

          “What?” Ian choked out.

          Mickey turned a shade or two pinker, but he shrugged and said, “Said it wasn’t always ‘cause we were drunk. Remember—uh, remember in fourth year—well. Remember last year when I finally passed my third Transfiguration test retake and—”

          “And when you showed up at our study session," Ian said suddenly as the memory rushed back—he couldn’t take his eyes off of Mickey’s face, “you told me and I—I grabbed you and kissed you.”

          Mickey didn’t say anything. He scratched at the side of his face and finally, nodded.

          “I forgot about that,” said Ian, laughing a little. “You spun me around and we knocked over a bookshelf.”

          “You kept bringing me butterbeers out of your secret stash,” Mickey said, and now he was grinning too.

          Ian shrugged, flushing a little. “I was proud of you.”

          Mickey turned pink. Ian’s own blush vanished and he grinned and tightened his hold on Mickey’s hand, just as Mickey’s own grip softened.

          “Shut up,” Mickey said. He sniffed a little and rubbed at the side of his nose. Ian grinned harder.

          Lip’s scoff drew Ian’s attention away from Mickey.

          “You two are weird,” he said dismissively.

          “It’s nice,” said Debbie, looking cross as she glared at their eldest brother. Ian stifled a laugh, which next drew her ire; Mickey’s thumb rubbed up and down the bone of Ian’s own beneath their blanket.

          Their conversation ceased then, as Carl found another cartoon Christmas movie to draw their attentions instead. As Debbie started listing off all of the reasons that despite their own religious beliefs they should be contributing to religious equality and watching movies from all winter holiday denominations, Carl turned up the volume to drown her out and Ian cuddled closer to Mickey’s side, pressing his shoulder into Mickey’s and leaning his head down to rest against the side of Mickey’s. He heard Mickey hum softly and rub his thumb against Ian’s again.

          He hadn’t yet seen whatever movie Carl had found, so he assumed it was recently made. It wasn’t good, but it was intriguing enough to hold his attention and prevent him from falling asleep as it went on. He couldn’t be so sure that Mickey felt the same beside him, because as time drew on he untwined their hands and began playing seemingly mindlessly with Ian’s fingers. His movements were slow, unmeasured and random. Ian could sense Mickey’s consciousness drifting away beside him and hummed as he gently extracted his hand from Mickey’s grasp. Mickey exhaled quietly, and Ian moved his arm to wrap it around Mickey’s shoulders, running his fingers through his hair. He pressed a kiss to his temple and Mickey sighed, shifting around until his face was more comfortably pressed into Ian’s neck. Ian continued his slow stroking through Mickey’s hair.

          He didn’t move, even when his arm around Mickey and his leg against Mickey’s began to cramp, until the movie was through and the credits began. Carl and Lip had both nodded off, but when Ian looked around, he saw his sister rousing herself from a doze. She offered no words, just a tiny parting smile as she gathered her blanket around herself and disappeared up the stairs. Ian waved at her, and when she was gone, turned back to Mickey.

          “Hey,” Ian whispered, shaking his arm so that Mickey’s entire torso jostled. “Hey, Mick.”

          Mickey murmured a tired, but present, senseless noise of acknowledgement.

          “It’s late,” Ian said again, his tone still hushed. “The movie’s over. Wanna head up to bed?”

          Mickey didn’t answer for a long moment. Then he said, voice gruff from sleep, “No. M’comfortable.” He yawned and shifted closer, and Ian tightened his hold around Mickey’s shoulders. “Give me twenty more minutes. Ten.”

          He hadn’t even opened his eyes. Ian sighed and slid deeper onto the couch, dragging Mickey with him. They settled together.

          “Take as long as you want,” Ian whispered.

          The fire was dwindling but still alight, and Ian blinked sleepily into the flames. He was too far from it to really feel its warmth, but he was comfortable, wrapped in a blanket and in Mickey. The jingle from that stupid movie was in his head; Ian hummed the tune idly, and stroked his fingers through Mickey’s hair, and settled in comfortably for a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, [hmu :)](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/137026903995)


	10. all i want for christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gently shook his fingers free, but then he feathered them, light and reverent across Ian’s jaw. Ian’s breath hitched. Mickey’s thumb grazed the corner of Ian’s mouth. When he leaned so close their foreheads were almost touching and he could feel Mickey’s breath on his cheek, he closed his eyes.  
> “Merry Christmas,” Mickey breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: everyone's drunk pretty much all chapter

          Ian had never seen a Christmas morning quite so…Christmassy.

          _Jingle Bells_ was playing on the radio, a light snow was falling outside the window, and his littlest brother was wearing a Santa hat that fell over his eyes and ears when he jumped onto Ian’s bed, jabbing both him and Mickey with little elbows and knees as he cried out, “Ian! Ian! Mickey! Get up, it’s Christmas!”

          Liam didn’t believe in Santa as anything more than a cute joke Fiona teased him with sometimes, even at his young age (maybe especially—being the youngest with five siblings that had to grow up too quickly didn’t a firm believer make), but that didn’t stop him from pulling Ian insistently down the stairs by the hand, chanting about reindeers and fat men in suits. Ian cast several helpless glances over his shoulder at Mickey, who was ambling along behind them and rubbing his eyes and looking like he found it far too early to be paying anything very much attention, let alone Ian and his energetic kid brother.

          The living room looked immaculate, or as immaculate as a shabby living room of six poor under-twenty-five year olds (with the occasional deadbeat dad drop-in) could look. Even magic could only get them so far.

          Ian dropped his brother off on the couch and went to the kitchen, where Fiona and Lip had had similar ideas and were huddled around the coffee maker in sweaters and blankets, looking bleary-eyed at nothing in particular and clutching mugs to their chests. Based on their tousled hair and glazed-over stares, they were either severely hungover or Liam had gotten to them too. Ian exchanged vague nods with them and busied himself making two cups of coffee.

          He joined Mickey by the counter and passed him a mug as he slid into the seat beside him. Mickey said nothing. He didn’t even glance at Ian as he took his coffee and sipped minutely at it. Ian didn’t have much attention to spare him either; it was far too early. He just fixated his eyes on a random spot in his line of vision and drank in silence with the other three semi-adults in the kitchen who had been subjected to Liam’s very early wake-up call.

          They were all working on a second cup of coffee when Debbie came down the stairs. She looked like she, too, had rolled suddenly out of the bed, and she was trailing her entire bedsheet with her as she stumbled for the fridge and started chugging orange juice straight out of the carton. Fiona sighed at the sight of her and put her coffee down so that she could start in on breakfast.

          “Remember when you all used to be excited for presents first thing?” Fiona asked as she cracked a few eggs in a bowl and started mixing them around with her wand. “Now look at us. We’re _adults_.”

          As she spoke, Liam stuck in his head into the kitchen, stared at them all, and let out a plaintive whine.

          “You guys said you’d be ready in ten minutes!” he complained. His frustration seemed generalized, which made Ian assume that they had all told him the same lie that Ian had: _Give me ten minutes and we’ll do presents_. They all exchanged looks.

          “We have to wait for Carl,” Fiona reasoned, as she directed the eggs into a frying pan and set about making them with apparently no intention of stopping for anything. Her stalling worked, however; Liam gave a frustrated huff to accompany the glare he directed at each of them before he turned and dashed away. Ian could hear him clamoring up the stairs again and turned to give Mickey a significant look.

          “Oh great, he’s getting Carl,” Debbie said. She rolled her eyes and sat down on Ian’s other side. “Morning Carl’s an asshole.”

          “And you’re all so pleasant,” Fiona said with a fake, sugary grin. Ian leveled her with a dirty look, and he could see Mickey and Debbie mirroring him in his peripherals. Fiona laughed.

          Carl stumbled downstairs as Fiona was portioning the last omelet onto a plate, and Ian clamored down from the counter to find a seat at the table instead. Once they were all seated—though not without Liam registering more complaints at their sluggishness and general disinterest at the only activity he had been thinking about since he’d woken up earlier than all of them, all hyped up on Christmas cheer—they dug into their breakfasts with minimal conversation all around. Liam was talking enough for all of them, the only one truly awake—though Carl seemed conscious enough to register his two cents every now and again. Ian watched his brothers with a kind of amazement that momentarily made him feel much older than he was. Youth, he reasoned, was an unstoppable force. Even when being met with the unmovable object that was his brain on five hours’ sleep.

          Only when their plates were clean did everyone begin drifting into the living room in singles and pairs. Ian headed out just after Lip, jerking his head for Mickey to follow. He watched him nod a small thank-you to Fiona before following him out, and they found seats around the tree with the others that were finished, waiting for the last couple of siblings to join them. Fiona came last, bearing yet another mug of coffee.

          “Okay,” she said, grinning broadly at them all as she found a place closest to the tree. “Who gets the first one?”

          Excitement was beginning to seep into Ian again, duller than when he was younger but inalienably _Christmas_ nevertheless, that kind of ingrained delight that always seemed to seep into the background when he was drinking eggnog or watching a holiday movie or decorating the tree. He leaned forward as Fiona handed Liam the first present and he tore it off in a fervor, unrepentant and without eyes for anything but his gift.

          They got through them quickly after that, all of them tearing into their piles at once without any kind of system or turns. The gifts were meager; everyone only had a few, just from one another, and it wasn’t like any of them could really afford anything of extravagance, but it was nice just to sit around and do this together anyway. Ian hugged all of his siblings as he got around to their presents. He was exceptionally filled with warmth by the time Fiona told them all to put their gifts in their room and reconvene for eggnog and the brie that Vee was bringing over, as a special gift to them all.

          “Pretty good, huh?” Ian asked Mickey as he trailed him up the stairs. Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Huh? Good, right?”

          Mickey had gotten his gifts from his sister and brothers the previous day—the moonshine and drugs were already stored at the bottom of his travel bag—but he was holding the little snow globe Fiona had given him (“From all of us,” she’d declared, while the others nodded as solemnly as they could and tried to look like they’d known about this ahead of time) while the rest of them had been tearing into their own gifts. It had _Gallagher_ written in a scrawl across the bottom. Mickey shook it as they crested the top of the stairs, and Ian watched the fake snow glitter around the globe for a long second before looking back up into Mickey’s face, but Mickey was watching the little trinket with heavier regard than Ian had expected.

          “Yeah, it was nice,” Mickey said, sounding distant. “If you like that kind of family-friendly shit, anyway.”

          “I _do_ like that family-friend shit, Mick,” Ian reminded him. Mickey finally glanced up at him, eyebrows arched scornfully, and Ian barked out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he added, and turned back around.

          Ian threw his presents on his bed to be dealt with later, but Mickey placed the snow globe much more carefully on the bedside table. He watched the last of the snow fall to the bottom of it, and Ian watched the side of his face. Then Mickey turned away, looking back up at Ian. He sounded like he was coming back to life when he clapped his hands together and said, “Ready to go?”

          Ian shrugged and followed him back downstairs.

          The family was back in the kitchen, along with Vee and Kev now too, all eating baked brie straight off a single plate with their forks. Ian fetched him and Mickey their own utensils and they slotted into empty spaces in the circle-like formation to join in.

          Afterwards, they all fell back to various spots in the kitchen. Ian was sure, based on the numerous looks of regret ranging from discomfort to outright pain, that his family was feeling just as sorry as he was for eating so much straight cheese at once.

          “I hate Christmas,” Carl moaned from where he was sitting at the table with his blanket pulled up over his head.

          Lip laughed. “We all hate Christmas a little bit right now,” he assured him.

          Carl gave an incoherent groan back.

          Ian glanced sideways at Mickey as the main conversation tapered off into several little ones.

          “So, what are the Milkovich family Christmas traditions?” he asked.

          Mickey stared at him. “What’s the what?”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Come on! You suffered through my family Christmas this morning, so now we can do what you usually do this afternoon. So. What do you guys usually do?”

          Mickey glanced around the kitchen and snorted. “Nothing like this.”

          “I’m surprised,” Ian deadpanned. “Come on, tell me. Do you get drunk by noon and brawl or just go straight to shooting firecrackers up each other’s asses?”

          “Definitely that one,” Mickey said. “Come on, I don’t give a shit about what we do this afternoon. My family traditions are…not anything I want to continue for any longer than I can help it. And we’re not at my house, so. We can just hang around here. If you want.”

          Ian looked at him for a few beats too long, assessing his sincerity but also just looking. He didn’t look sad or anything though, and Ian knew that Mickey would definitely voice his opinion if he wanted or didn’t want to do something, so after a couple of moments he just shrugged. He leaned closer though, pressing their arms together.

          “Whatever you want,” he said.

          Other than opening gifts in a disorganized frenzy together, the Gallaghers didn’t really have many family traditions other than day drinking and having half of them black out or fall asleep before dinnertime.

          They ended up sprawling out in the living room together, even Kev and Vee. A few of them wanted to take naps to make up for their interrupted sleep, but a couple stayed up sipping at drinks and talking. It was relatively calm, for once; everyone was still a little tired.

          After a couple hours of mostly lounging around, Ian pulled Mickey away from the others, upstairs into his room. They were each more than a few drinks deep, balancing their overflowing cups of spiked eggnog in one hand and laughing as they stumbled up the stairs one after the other, fastened together by their joined hands.

          Ian half-slammed the door shut behind them, shoving Mickey back against it as he fell against him. He laughed into where his face was pressed into Mickey’s neck. The room spun around him, but not unpleasantly, and he didn’t feel dizzy.

          “Fuck,” he hiccupped, pulling back a little. His free hand was pressed against the door beside Mickey’s head, his other still trying not to let his drink spill. Their faces were close, and Ian could tell by Mickey’s wandering eyes that he wasn’t the only one struggling to focus. The dizziness waxed and waned inside him.

          For a few seconds, they stared at each other. Then he felt Mickey’s hand touch his ribs, light. It slid down and stopped right over the top of the cut of his hipbone.

          Ian breathed out. His head settled, equilibrium restored.

          “What are you doing?” He didn’t know why he was whispering. He hadn’t even meant to.

          Mickey shook his head, minutely. “Nothing,” he whispered back.

          His touch was light. Ian could almost convince himself that he was dreaming it, except Mickey’s eyes were just that much wider than normal. Not enough to tell from a distance, but Ian could tell from here. He was so close that Mickey’s freckles, usually camouflaged against his pale skin—even paler set so starkly against his dark hair—seemed prominent, the way they did sometimes when he blushed. Ian felt warm.

          He watched the line of Mickey’s throat move as he swallowed. Slowly, he trailed his gaze back up to meet Mickey’s. They were quiet. He could feel Mickey’s breath stutter where it fanned across his cheek, and Ian gulped another awkward, drunken laugh.

          “You’re—”

          The door was shoved from the other side, and they stumbled backwards away from it. Eggnog sloshed over the rims of both their cups and spilled all over themselves and the floor, and they both let out long streams of curses as the door swung open again, this time properly. Carl stood in the doorway, watching them sputter profanity and glare at him.

          “Jesus Christ, Carl!” Ian snapped.

          “What’s up both your asses?” Carl asked as he pressed further into the room.       He reached up onto his bed and rummaged through the pile of presents he had deposited there earlier, until he tugged down the toy rifle Ian had gotten him. He waved it at their still-cross faces.

          “Either of you wanna teach me how to shoot this?”

          Ian glanced back at Mickey, prepared to share his anger and shoo Carl out, but Mickey looked relatively unfazed. He still waved Carl out of the room though, saying, “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute, ‘kay? We gotta get cleaned up first.”

          Carl crossed back to the other side of the threshold. He yelped out an _“ow!”_ as Mickey thwacked him upside the head (“You spilled perfectly good liquor all over me, asshole!”) but seemed appeased when Mickey assured him he’d be right down. Carl turned, and Mickey shut the door again. He whirled back around to face Ian again and gave him a _fucking Christ, am I right?_ sort of look, then exhaled heavily and pushed past him to start changing into clothes that were a little less sticky. Ian stared at the back of his head for a few seconds before shaking himself off and following suit.

          He had to throw their dirty clothes down the laundry chute and put their now mostly-empty cups in the kitchen, so Mickey was already gone by the time he headed into the living room. He looked around, but didn’t immediately see him when he reentered the room. Fiona took one look at him and waved him vaguely in the direction he had come from. For lack of anyplace else to search, Ian headed out into the backyard.

          Mickey and Carl were out there surely enough, standing in snow halfway up their shins and shooting the nerf pellets from the gun at various spots on the side of the pool. Ian leaned over the railing on the back porch and watched them.

          “Glad I didn’t go for the BB gun,” he called, and both boys looked over their shoulders at him. “Aside from the fact that Carl would have bruised all of us by now, you guys are still gonna shoot holes in the pool at this rate.”

          Carl looked thrilled at the prospect, but Mickey just smiled his usual lazy, smug smirk and said, “Nah, not with the charm I put on the siding. The thing’s basically concrete at this point.”

          Carl’s disappointment was evident, but Ian just chuckled. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, and let his good mood flow through him for a couple of seconds. Then he turned back to them both.

          “Come back in before you freeze your nuts off, okay?” he called, standing up straighter. “Dinner’s at seven and the drinking games start when the kids go to bed.”

          “Drinking games?” Carl piped up.

          Mickey shot him a sideways glance. “I think you’re one of the kids, kid.”

          Carl pouted. Ian grinned and offered them a short wave before heading back inside.

          His head was clearer than it had been twenty minutes ago, but not by much. He cursed Carl for forcing him to spill his drink and went to make himself another, anything to recapture that muscle-deep heat he had so briefly felt up in his room, extinguished by his stint outside. Then he rejoined the others in the living room, where everyone else was talking in a loud cacophony of voices and mixed conversations.

          Mickey and Carl came inside after about an hour, but Mickey quickly left again, insisting that he and Mandy were going to go out for a drink or two by themselves for a couple of hours. He reappeared shortly before dinner but hurried upstairs again right afterwards, claiming he desperately needed a shower to sober him a little, as Mandy had insisted on tequila shots. Ian watched him trail up the stairs, eyes on his back until he turned out of sight, and only then did his attention stray back to the conversation in which he was only sort of participating with Vee and Fiona and Kev.

          He left the chair beside him empty at the dinner table. Although nearly the last to arrive, Mickey slid in beside him anyway, knocking their elbows together on purpose and grinning.

          “Hey,” he said easily, before reaching over to start piling food onto his plate.

          He was clearly more sober than Ian was at this point, and Ian just laughed and took the bowls Mickey passed him, and started filling his own dinner plate.

          “Have fun out with Mandy?”

          “Yeah, yeah,” Mickey said. “She’s good, she’s real good.”

          He sounded light, upbeat…it took a second for Ian to realize that Mickey sounded _happy_. He sounded happy in a way that was usually disguised by a heavy couple layers of boredom and disdain.

          “Good. And how was spending the afternoon with my brother?”

          “Also…good,” he said. “Kid’s a real good shot, you know? With a bit of training—”

          “We are not training Carl to use a gun,” Fiona cut in firmly. They both turned to face her stern expression. “God knows that’s the last thing this house needs. Ian, could you pass me the rolls please?”

          Carl seemed suspiciously unfazed; Ian heard him lean over to Debbie and whisper, “Mickey already taught me how to use it. I can learn to aim by myself.”

          Ian was going to have to take his present back, probably.

          Regardless of his brother’s intentions, Ian was in too good a mood at the present moment to spoil it with thoughts of consequences and what could go wrong, so he just smiled at Mickey and asked him to pass over the butter.

          The conversation over dinner was much livelier than the one over breakfast or brie, probably because half the table was already really drunk. Vee and Kev had spent the day and joined them for dinner, and halfway through the meal, Kev leaned over and gave Ian a shove to shoulder, probably harder than he’d intended. They were both a bit too drunk to care, and they just laughed as Ian righted himself.

          “So!” Kev said. “This is your first holiday as a couple, right? How’s it feel?”

          Ian glanced sideways at Mickey, and then back at Kev. He shrugged.

          “Feels fine,” he said. “Feels like every other day, ‘cept I’m drunker.”

          Kev laughed. “Yeah. Holidays will do that to you, man.”

          “And they got each other _secret_ presents,” Debbie said, grinning slyly at them. “They gave them to each other _days_ ago.”

          “Sounds sexy,” Kev teased, and only laughed when Mickey kicked him hard beneath the table.

          “It was _not_ sexy,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “God, you guys are all children.”

          “Says one of the only underage people at the table,” Lip threw back. Ian chucked a roll at his head. Lip laughed. “Do that again with _magic_ , little bro.”

          Ian flipped him off.

          “Hey, at least _he’s_ getting laid on a regular basis,” said Vee. “Talk shit all you want, blue balls.”’

          “Vee!” Lip yelped. “Whose side are you on?”

          “Whoever brings me my next round,” she said unabashedly, waving her glass around. Both boys rolled their eyes.

          They had uncorked wine to go with dinner—granted, the wine was incredibly cheap and tasted like it, but mixed with the bourbon he had been consuming steadily all day, it was going very quickly to Ian’s head. Based off the increasingly loud and senseless laughter from around the table, he wasn’t the only one. Mickey, who after all had had whiskey, wine, and the tequila from the bar, was faring surprisingly well, meaning he was only occasionally swaying too close and leaning too heavily on Ian’s arm. He certainly didn’t seem like he had consumed as much alcohol as he really had, and Ian would know; he had mixed about half of Mickey’s drinks. Ian gripped Mickey’s forearm in his hand when Mickey leaned into him yet again, and they shared a look.

          “You okay?” he whispered.

          Mickey snorted. “Speak for yourself, Gallagher. I can drink your sorry ass under the table.”

          He wasn’t wrong; Ian had seen it proven on more than one occasion. He squeezed Mickey’s arm and then let him go.

          Everyone scattered after dessert, with the imperative to be back down by ten if they wanted to catch the fireworks that they were going to set off in the backyard. Ian intended to be there, even fully knowing as he did that a large group of drunk young adults with questionable common sense would be in charge of it.

          In the meantime, he followed Mickey upstairs when he retreated into Ian’s room.

          “God,” Mickey breathed when they shut the door and immediately shut out at least half the noise permeating the house. “I’m getting a fucking headache being around those people.”

          “Us Gallaghers have three superpowers,” Ian declared as he collapsed backwards on his bed, splaying his arms out wide, “drinking all day without getting the cops called on us, finding fucks in a pinch, and doling out headaches.”

          Mickey rubbed at his temple as he sat down beside him heavily, making the mattress bounce a little. “What’s the first two have to do with the last one?”

          “Just you wait,” Ian snorted, staring up at the ceiling. “By the time we go down in an hour and a half, Lip and Fiona will both have found makeout buddies to kiss during the show, and okay, some of us will have passed out, but at least we’ll all be jail-free.”

          “Impressive,” said Mickey. “Luckily no one in my family has any of those powers, or I’d have to murder every single one of them.”

          Ian laughed. “You already want to murder every single one of them.”

          “Yeah, but _really_.”

          Ian reached up and tugged on Mickey’s arm, forcing him to lay down beside him. He rolled over, tucking his knees up to his chest and blinking over at Mickey.

          “So what are you saying?” he asked. “That all this time it’s been bravado? A charade? A sick joke?”

          “What?”

          “Your badass routine,” Ian explained, poking at Mickey’s ribs so he flinched away from him, smiling involuntarily. “You’re always saying you _really_ want to hurt this person or kill that one. You’re telling me it was all an _exaggeration_?”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Come on, man.”

          “I’m serious!” Ian exclaimed, completely not at all serious. “I can’t believe this. You’ve been playing me all along.”

          “Shut the fuck up,” Mickey said, now starting to laugh a little despite his obvious attempts to cover it up.

          “The deception! The hurt!” Ian proclaimed, throwing his arm over his eyes dramatically. “The lies! All a sick game!”

          “Fuck the fuck off!” Mickey said, now full-on laughing as he rolled over Ian.

          Ian shoved and swatted at him, but Mickey caught one hand in his and Ian’s wrist in the other, and they pulled and pushed until Mickey had both of Ian’s arms pinned down on the bed. Still, Ian rocked his knees up, trying to throw him off. Mickey got one knee over Ian’s hips and sat down heavily, pinning him fully to the mattress.

          “Would you shut up?” Mickey yelled, but he was still laughing, and Ian was still shouting out all about Mickey’s betrayal and deceit.

          “I’ve been hoodwinked all these years!” he cried out. “Deceived for so long! By someone I thought was a friend—”

          “Ian, cut it out—”

          “My very best friend in the whole universe!”

          “Stop it!” Mickey shouted, laughing even harder than Ian was. “God, you’re such a pain in the ass!”

          Ian shoved out with the hand still clasped in Mickey’s, managing to bend Mickey’s arm far enough back that he had the leverage to pull his hand free, he laughed wildly as he brought it down hard on the side of Mickey’s ass.

          “Now I really am,” he said delightedly.

          Mickey let out another loud curse, and Ian pressed his hand up on Mickey’s chest, forcing him backwards, but Mickey got both hands on his shoulders and kept him down. Then he moved to catch Ian’s wrists again, and he fell over him, really, and caught himself with their faces inches apart. Ian sucked in a breath. For a few seconds they just stared at each other—Ian swallowed. He could tell Mickey wasn’t breathing. And then, without warning or communication, they collapsed backwards at nearly the same time and lay staring at the ceiling, which for Ian was spinning a little bit.

          Then Mickey groaned and said, “ _Fuck_. I have the spins.”

          Ian let out a pained chuckle.

          “So do I,” he said ruefully. He closed his eyes. “We could sleep it off.”

          Mickey snorted. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m gonna drink it off.”

          He felt the bed jostle and bounce, and he opened his eyes again. Mickey was standing in front of him, holding out one hand. Ian groaned loudly, but he took it anyway and let Mickey pull him up beside him. Ian stumbled a bit, and he felt Mickey’s hand close over his forearm steadyingly. Ian looked up.

          “Thanks.”

          Mickey shrugged one shoulder and let him go.

          Ian’s head had started to pound by the time they got downstairs and filled two more glasses with the wine leftover from dinner. Mickey chugged about half of his in one go and then poured more until his glass was full, but Ian just sipped at his, waiting for his headache to abate a little before he made any decisions about further inebriation. Mickey swiped his hand across his mouth.

          “I feel fancy as shit,” he declared, gesturing with his mug of wine.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re the fanciest kid I know,” he assured him back.

          Mickey narrowed his eyes into a brief glower.

          Ian glanced over at the clock. “We have awhile before the fireworks. What do you want to do?”

          When he turned back to Mickey, he caught him biting his lip and looking off to the side, clearly debating something with himself. Ian snapped his fingers in Mickey’s face, drawing his attention.    

          “What?” Ian asked. “Whatever it is, I swear I’m in. I don’t feel like hanging out with everyone just yet. I’ll do it anything.”

          Mickey’s teeth were still worrying his lip, but his eyes were on Ian’s face now, and Ian added earnestly, “Seriously. Anything.”

          Mickey sighed. “I maybe have a part two.”

          Ian furrowed his brow. “Part two of what?”

          “Of your present,” he said in a rush. When Ian didn’t answer in the first couple of seconds, Mickey hurried on, “I mean, I didn’t get you anything else. But I thought of this thing I thought you’d like earlier, and I just—just thought I could—but I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s kind of stupid, so—”

          “Mickey,” Ian said, laughing a little as he laid a hand on his arm, and Mickey shut up immediately. “Show me what it is!”

          Mickey watched him for a long few seconds, and seemed to discern that Ian was being sincere. He nodded slowly, and stepped back a couple of steps.

          “I have to get something from upstairs,” he said.

          “Okay,” said Ian. “I’ll be down here. Just waiting for your return.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and then was gone. A little nonplussed, Ian slumped back against the kitchen counter and resumed sipping his wine while he waited for Mickey to return.

          He was back down in a minute, carrying his wand in one hand and still holding his wine in the other. He brushed past Ian without a word, and Ian fell into step behind him as Mickey crossed the kitchen and left through the back door.

          “What are we doing?” Ian asked, stepping out after him and shutting the door behind him. He crossed his arms, shivering a little—he wasn’t wearing enough clothes to be outside comfortably.

          Mickey was bright when he turned to Ian then, and he tapped him on the top of the head with his wand, the way he had a few weeks ago. In seconds, heat flooded all throughout Ian’s body.

          “Better?” Mickey asked.

          Ian nodded and was met with Mickey’s warm smile.

          “Just be careful,” Mickey said. “I’m pretty sure that just because you _feel_ warm, you can still freeze to death like this.”

          Then he turned and trudged down the stairs into the backyard, and Ian followed him off the back porch. Mickey stopped in the middle of the yard, and he Summoned one of the blankets from the upstairs closet and laid it down beside them on the snow. Ian wasn’t exactly sure which spell he used, but when Mickey sat down, the blanket didn’t depress into the snow the way it should have. Instead, it laid there on top of the thick cover of white that overlaid the grass. Mickey grinned up at Ian and reached a hand up, and Ian let him pull him down to the blanket beside him.

          “Someone’s been studying for NEWTs,” Ian said, sprawling out on his back over the blanket.

          Mickey snorted. “Whatever, man.” Ian could tell he was pleased. “Just lay back and…watch.”

          Ian made a show of settling in, getting comfortable. He could feel Mickey’s eyes on him but continued squirming around on the blanket until he was satisfied, and then he rolled his head to the side to look back at Mickey.

          “I’m ready,” he declared.

          Mickey rolled his eyes and turned his face skywards instead, so Ian copied him and stared up as well. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but he kept looking up, even when he could see Mickey shuffling around beside him. He saw him raise his wand straight up above them, and then he muttered something Ian didn’t understand, and the sky exploded.

          Stars, Ian realized quickly as his eyes adjusted to the strange sight. Hundreds of starry sparks were floating about ten feet above them, and they were moving, shifting and dancing and chasing each other around and around. They swirled together, and then apart, and shuffled around again. Ian was pretty sure that Mickey, who was waving his wand around directing them, was making this all up on the spot, but he was too entranced by the spectacle anyway to care much. It was beautiful, watching the stars Mickey had created jump and dip and twirl around each other. Despite the warming spell, his lips were chapping as the winter wind rushed over where they were parted.

          After a while, one by one, the stars began exploding; others shot off in random directions, like shooting stars that disappeared when they reached too far into the surrounding night. Ian tried to watch everything at once, the ones that burst apart and the ones that scattered, but it was impossible to keep track of all of them with everything rushing around at once. Finally only fifteen stars remained, and they split off from each other and began racing around in the air, drawing out lines. Ian quickly realized that they were letters; they disappeared when they were done writing, until the last one traced an exclamation point and burst apart in a sprinkle of light. Where the last of the stars had been were the words _Merry Christmas!_ traced out like the aftermath of a sparkler, but it hung there, bright and shimmering, for nearly half a minute until it began fizzling. Finally the sky went dark again, save for the real stars glimmering above them, and Ian blinked the outline of the words from his vision. He turned to Mickey, slowly.

          Ian opened his mouth, but he had no words.

          “You…”

          Mickey squinted at him. At length, he said, “Does that mean you liked it?”

          Ian scoffed before he could catch himself. “Did I _like_ it?” he repeats incredulously. “Mickey, I…I…”

          He couldn’t find the words. Instead, he rolled over on top of Mickey and buried his face in his neck, ignoring the huff of air that Mickey let out when covered with all of Ian’s weight at once. He hugged him as best he could from his position, and after a second, he felt Mickey’s arms close around him tightly as well. Ian pressed further into him, and breathed deeply. Mickey’s scent was the same as always: smoke and magic and peace. Ian squeezed his sides tightly and thought he might never pull away.

          Then the back door slammed open, and they both startled; Ian looked up, and Mickey rolled his head back to look behind them too. The rest of the family—save for Debbie and Liam, whom Ian had suspected had gone to bed—had spilled onto the porch, all stumbling slightly and talking loudly to each other. They paused, looking back at Ian and Mickey on the lawn. There was a long silence.

          Finally, Carl snorted, “Gross,” and traipsed down the stairs, and the rest of them starting following suit. Ian quickly rolled back onto his side of the blanket.

          “Sorry to ruin your evening, boys,” said Fiona, grinning at them while she—and the boy she was dragging along behind her by the hand, whom Ian vaguely recognized as taking her out on a date two years ago—conjured the lawn chairs from the garage, spread them out around the blanket, and found a seat in one of them.

          “We weren’t doing anything,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. Fiona and a couple of the others just snickered at him.

          Lip had also found a girl from around the neighborhood, a brunette girl who looked familiar in the way everyone from around town looked sort of familiar.  They squeezed into the same chair, with the girl on Lip’s lap and his arms around her waist while they whispered together. Ian scoffed and looked away. Fiona and her  boy had at least taken separate chairs, although they were also leaning close together and occasionally kissing one another lightly. Vee and Kev were messing around with the fireworks, shoving each other lightly and giggling. Ian turned back to Mickey, who was giving him a look like he had also seen the frankly sickening affection pouring off the other couples and like he, too, found it disgusting.

          It took Vee and Kev twenty minutes to get the fireworks set up, and then another ten arguing over who got to light the first one and trying to gauge how drunk they each were, because the most sober should probably be the one playing with explosives. Finally Lip pointed out that nearly everyone here had been drinking since the morning, and they finally decided to light the first one together and then take turns with every one after. They set matches and threw them down together, and Ian laid back on the blanket again to watch as the first firework shot up into the sky and exploded into hundreds of sparkling tendrils. Beside him, Mickey laid down too.

          The sky was beautiful, all lit up red and green and blue and yellow, but Ian thought privately that Mickey’s show had been even better than this, even as the embers above him rained down until they seemed like they would touch the lawn. They were still nothing to the stars that Mickey had conjured just for him.

          Ian rolled his head to the side, looking over at Mickey’s profile. He was facing the sky and the fireworks, and the lights were playing beautifully off of his face, lighting him up in different colors and illuminating random angles on his cheeks. After a few seconds, Mickey turned to look at him.

          “What?” he whispered.

          The backs of Ian’s fingers brushed the side of Mickey’s hand.

          “Nothing,” he murmured back.

          They couldn’t draw too much attention, situated around the center of the family as they were. A few of the chairs were scattered to either side, and Carl was sitting in the back for god knows what reason; Fiona kept shooting him suspicious glances over shoulder, prompting Ian to look back too, but he never seemed to be doing anything except watching the fireworks above like the rest of them.

          Just to be safe, Ian slipped his hand over Mickey’s. He was relieved when Mickey’s hold on him instantly tightened, and Ian let out a long, heavy breath.

          They kept watching the show in the sky; after awhile they started to take shape, exploding into patterns of reindeer or flowers or smiley faces, and it was clear that someone—probably Lip—had enchanted a few of the fireworks to do something special once they were in the sky. Ian laughed elatedly as a slew of fireworks raced each other up into the air and then exploded into rockets and continues chasing each other around the sky—when one caught up to another, they would both burst apart in a loud, colorful boom.

          When the finale hit, Ian thought, for a moment, that the entire sky had exploded. Everything was sent into technicolor, constantly shifting, and it didn’t end after ten seconds, or twenty, or a minute—it just kept going and going and going.

          After awhile, Ian started to notice that half of their company had vacated their seats. He was suddenly aware of Mickey’s grip, which had tightened on his hand, and then that everyone no longer seated had moved into their partners’ laps. Fiona and her boy, and Lip and his girl, and Kev and Vee—everyone who had someone was suddenly kissing them. Ian turned wide eyes in Mickey’s direction. His heart skipped a beat, then another, and then it started pumping hard.

          “Do we…?” Ian trailed off in a whisper.

          Mickey’s gaze was sharp and steady, his fingers tight around Ian’s. He looked completely at ease, much more composed than Ian suddenly felt. His head tilted closer on their blanket. Ian watched his attention drift down near his chin.

          Mickey gently shook his fingers free, but then he feathered them, light and reverent across Ian’s jaw. Ian’s breath hitched. Mickey’s thumb grazed the corner of Ian’s mouth. When he leaned so close their foreheads were almost touching and he could feel Mickey’s breath on his cheek, he closed his eyes.

          “Merry Christmas,” Mickey breathed.

          Ian tilted his chin up, and Mickey leaned down, and Ian felt their lips connect. All at once, his insides felt like they were mirroring the sky above them; the hand Mickey had released clenched, then grasped ceaselessly at nothing until he found the fabric of Mickey’s shirt and tangled his fingers in it, tugging aimlessly. Mickey’s hand slid across his jaw to cradle his head, and Ian recaptured his lips as he turned his head, opening his mouth a little wider. He unclenched his fist, flattening his palm against Mickey’s waist instead, not pulling or roaming, just touching, just feeling Mickey’s skin warm through his shirt with the charm he had put on the both of them earlier.

          They kissed and kissed and all Ian could feel was Mickey’s lips and his hands, and all he could think about, for some reason, was how _warm_ Mickey was against him, and he didn’t know why but it was on a loop on his head, restarting every time their mouths reconnected, again, differently, from this angle or that, every time one of them shifted. All he could hear was his pulse pounding, and the rest of the world was silent.

          And then, softly enough to be gentle but firmly enough that Ian was positive he wasn’t hallucinating, he felt the tip of Mickey’s tongue graze his lower lip.

          A second later, Mickey pulled away, and Ian took two deep breaths before he opened his eyes. He swallowed hard. He wanted to say something, but his mind was entirely wiped blank. Mickey’s expression was unreadable, composed except for his bright eyes and that he seemed similarly unable to tear his eyes away from Ian’s, and he either couldn’t speak or had nothing to say. Ian wasn’t sure which one was the worse option.

          “Merry Christmas,” Mickey said again, this time chuckling a little.

          Ian’s entire body felt frozen, and he knew the feeling well—he was just afraid of that awful dropping out that his stomach would do as soon as the shock wore off. Above them, the sky finally went dark, the firework show over.

          Ian glanced up at the empty sky, and when he looked back at Mickey, he wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes had drifted to focus somewhere on Ian’s cheek, and he didn’t seem like he was having the same kind of panic that Ian was. He just looked tired, his eyes half-closed, his head resting on the blanket.

          Ian could feel some of that dread he had known was coming starting to set in, and he choked some of it back forcibly as he scrambled up to his feet.

          “I need to—I’ll be back,” he rushed out.

          Most of the others had already begun talking and laughing and drinking again, so no one really looked twice as he turned and hurried inside the house.

          He sprinted into the living room and grabbed the house phone as he breezed past it, thankful that they lived in a half-Muggle neighborhood so they all at least had phones for pretense, but it made for easy communication. He bolted up the staircase too, skipping steps as he climbed it as fast as possible, and slammed the door behind him when he whirled into his room and collapsed, panting slightly, on his bed. His fingers were shaking and he struggled to type in the number he had memorized a couple of summers ago.

          “Sheila,” he burst out as soon as the other line stopped ringing.

          “Ian?” she asked. “Oh, honey, how’s your Christmas going? Are you having a good time? Karen and I—”

          “Sheila, please,” he said. He was being rude, but he really didn’t have the time to make small talk with her right now. “Please, I need to talk to Mandy. Can you go get her?”

          “Well, sure,” she said, concern touching briefly into her cheerful tone. “Is everything okay? The girls have been drinking a bit, so—”

          “That’s okay,” Ian said hurriedly. “I just need to tell her something.

          “Okay.” Despite his rudeness, Sheila continued to chat amicably about her day as she walked the phone upstairs, and it was taking her so long that Ian was sure that she was crawling through the house. Finally, she broke off a story about gingerbread cookies that he was only half-listening to and he heard a door creak open, and then Sheila saying, “Oh! Sorry girls!” and Karen’s voice, “ _Mom!_ ” and then Sheila, “Mandy, sweetie, it’s Ian.”

          There was fumbling for a few seconds, and then Mandy’s voice, slurring a little:

          “Hello?”

          “Mands,” he said. His heart was still pounding, and he didn’t think it was from running to here from the backyard.

          “Ian?” she asked, sounding alert. “What’s happened? Are you okay?”

          “I’m…” Ian took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

          “Talk to me, Ian.”

          He wasn’t sure he could say it. The shock was really wearing off now, and instead of just the deep-seated anguish for which he had somewhat prepared, he was also plagued by waves of anxiety, crashing through him and crushing his lungs.

          Fuck. Fuck.

          “Mandy,” Ian breathed out slowly. And then, “I have to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA DONE FUCKED UP IAN GALLAGHER
> 
> :)) as always, find me [here](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/137956370160)!


	11. the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even touching felt different now; Ian didn’t know how things could shift quite so quickly, and without him noticing. One minute he was fine, the next he was thinking about Mickey’s fingers and the way they looked holding the joint and the way they tapped lazily across his upper lip when he brought it to his mouth and the way they looked tangled with Ian’s. For a moment he wished his family were around so he had an excuse to take Mickey’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: they get high in this chapter

          “Oh, Ian.”

          Mandy had been saying that a lot this morning, with varying degrees of exasperation chilling her tone. They were sitting in the café where they had been meeting up all break, and she had her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and her gloves and jacket on the seat beside her. She looked bright-eyed and put together, nothing like how Ian felt at all. She eyed him shrewdly and took another sip of her coffee.

          “So you’re sure?”

          “Yes, I’m _sure_ ,” he said, spreading his hands out on the table. Then he let them slide forward, stretching his arms out over the tabletop so that his forehead collided heavily with the wood. It didn’t even hurt, not with everything else clouding up his brain. “I have fucking feelings for him, Mandy. _More than friends_ feelings. I so fucked up. _I’m_ so fucked up.”

          “You’re not fucked up,” Mandy said impatiently, setting her coffee down on the table with a little clack that made Ian raise his head to look at her. “I told you. I told you this would happen!”

          “What?” Ian choked. “You did not tell me this would happen!”

          “I so did! Back when you first proposed this ridiculous plan, I said that I thought—”

          “You did _not_!” He sounded hysterical. He _felt_ hysterical. “You just yelled a lot because you thought we were babying you, then said you were gonna make this a shitshow for us. So _thanks_ , by the way.”

          Mandy paused, blinking at him. She looked genuinely confused. “Huh. How come nobody’s ever told me that I’m kind of awful?”

          “We tell you all the time,” Ian said.

          “And you’re sure I never warned you about this?”

          “Yes I’m sure!” Ian said, banging his fist against the table. “You didn’t tell me this was going to happen, Mandy!”

          “You’re sure I really didn’t?” He shook his head at her in disbelief. She sat back, considering. “Huh. Oh, well, I knew, anyway.”

          Ian sat up again, gaping at her. “You _knew_ and you didn’t fucking warn me?!”

          “Well, _sorry_! I forgot your dumb ass was incapable of playing literally anything cool! I didn’t think I’d have to spoonfeed you your own emotions, dipshit!”

          “Well, you did!” he half-shouted. “God, what the fuck am I going to do now?”

          “You’re going to relax, for one thing.” Mandy rolled her eyes. “Then you’re going to decide whether or not you’re going to tell Mickey.”

          Ian could feel his anxiety climbing. Maybe it was just his headache from this conversation. “ _Tell_ him? Why the hell would I tell him?”

          “Oh, I don’t know.” She tapped her chin, pretending to think. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh! Because you don’t want to be stuck wondering what could have been?”

          “And if he never wants to see me again?”

          “Oh, right. That sounds _just_ like him.”

          Ian sighed. “Could you please be serious for five seconds?”

          “I am being serious!” She threw up her hands and then let them fall back into her lap with a loud smack. “In what world would Mickey just give up on his _best friend_ because of something _so_ incredibly stupid? Are we even talking about the same person?”

          “Okay, fine,” Ian conceded. “But what if I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same way? I’m telling you, he just—he looked almost _bored_ after we practically made out in front of my whole family. I don’t know if I can deal with liking him like this if he, you know. Just sees me as his brother.”

          “Well, you’ll always be my brother,” Mandy assured him.

          Ian gave her the best smile he could muster before he couldn’t anymore, and he dropped it. He sighed again and looked away, and he knew he was pouting a little. He took a sip of his own coffee and then felt Mandy’s fingers touch the back of his other hand, lightly. He looked up at her.

          “You don’t have to tell him, Ian,” she said. “Maybe just…just chill out on the couply stuff, you know? Because you might just be feeling this way because he’s acting so much like your boyfriend, so you’re like, projecting romantic feelings onto him and shit. So just like, cool it with the kissing and stuff, see how you feel then. And if you still like him, you can figure out what to do after that. About telling him or not, I mean. You never know, you could get over it.” When Ian scoffed, she held up her hands and said, “Hey, I fall in and out of love about fifty times a day. You could too.”

          Ian propped his chin on his hand and stared at her miserably.

          “I guess,” he said.

          Mandy pouted her bottom lip out sympathetically. “We’ll figure this out, okay? You’ve gotten me out of enough shitty boy situations. Now it’s my turn to help you.”

          Ian reached out and tangled his fingers with hers over the tabletop. She offered him a small smile and squeezed his hand.

          “Thanks, Mandy.”

          She had that sympathetic look out again. “Anytime.”

 

          Ian was dreading returning to the house, just a little bit. More than a little, really. He lingered unnecessarily on the steps outside, gripping the railing beside him too tightly and staring nervously at the front door as though he was afraid that Mickey might jump out from behind it and start berating him for getting in this deep.

          “Fucking relax,” he muttered to himself. “Be cool. _Be cool_.”

          With that as his sole pep talk, Ian closed his eyes, took a couple of deep breaths and, with his heart stuttering a little more than he wanted, he unlocked the door and crossed the threshold inside.

          He wasn’t besieged by questions and accusations like he had been half expecting; in fact, no one was around to greet him at all. He could hear a couple of people clattering around the kitchen, and someone messing around upstairs, but no one was in the living room, and definitely no one was interrogating him. Ian breathed out a sigh of relief and toed off his shoes, unwrapping his scarf and discarding his jacket on the hook in the foyer.

          It was still early, but Ian hadn’t eaten yet. He had been too busy freaking out and seeing Mandy, who, though too drunk and busy to help him last night, had arranged for them to meet this morning. Ian had picked an early time, well aware that he wouldn’t be sleeping very well, and he hadn’t had a chance to grab something for breakfast before leaving the house. He headed into the kitchen to see if he could snag any leftovers from whatever his siblings had made, to assuage his grumbling stomach.

          Lip and Debbie were both in the kitchen. Lip was drinking a cup of coffee, but Debbie was sitting at the table, loudly popping gum and struggling to assemble one of her presents from yesterday.

          “Need help?” he asked her as he set about making himself some toast.

          Debbie sighed dramatically and cast him a distressed look. “Yes, please.”

          Ian laughed. “Okay, give me about two minutes and then I’ll come see what you’re doing.”

          She just sighed again and returned to struggling with whatever she had. Ian ruffled her hair, ignored her mutters of protest, and went to fight with their half-broken toaster.

          He was eating with one hand and helping Debbie figure out a model rocket with the other when Mickey came downstairs, and for a minute, Ian felt like the entire world came to a crashing halt. His heart stuttered in his chest. He momentarily forgot to breathe.

          Then Mickey nodded his head at him and said, “’Sup, man,” and everything kicked back into overdrive.

          He felt close to hyperventilating and his heart was pounding so loud he could hardly hear himself think, but he managed a moderately normal, “Hey,” and quickly returned to helping his sister with her rocket. Still, he was hyper-aware of Mickey moving around the kitchen in his periphery, sleep-mussed and barely dressed, and he was paying so little attention to what he was doing that he cut himself on one of the pieces, twice.

          “Ian, what are you doing?” Debbie asked testily, drawing his attention away from trying not to think about Mickey. “You’re completely ruining this. Give me that, stop playing with it. Are you going to help me or not?”

          “Probably not,” Ian said absently. Then he looked up into Debbie’s cross face and amended, “Oh, shit. Sorry. Uh, yeah, I’ll help.”

          She gave him another serious look and, when he met it with the best sincerity he could, she sighed and passed him back a couple pieces to try and assemble together. Ian tried not to think about Mickey, pouring juice on the other side of the kitchen. Taunting Ian with his presence.

          Of course, he was only given about five minutes of peace before Mickey wandered over. He brushed his hand over the back of Ian’s neck, and Ian stiffened.

          “Morning,” Mickey said, sweeping a hand through Ian’s hair. He plopped down into the seat next to him. “What are you doing?”

          “Fucking up a model rocket,” said Ian. “Oh hey, I saw your sister this morning.”

          “Oh yeah? She was pretty tanked last night. She still drunk this morning?”

          “No,” Ian said ruefully. “She seemed surprisingly put together for someone who left me a ten minute drunk pocket dial last night that sounded like she was having sex.”

          Mickey snorted. “Mandy’s never been put together a day in her life.”

          “Maybe not, but she plays it off well.” Ian quirked an eyebrow at him, and gave half a smile. Mickey snickered.

          “Well, whatever. Wanna go see a movie later or something? I’ve been cooped up here too long.”

          Ian’s heart was pounding again. “Yeah,” he said, surprised. Then, “Wait. You just went out yesterday.”

          “Well, I want to go out again,” Mickey said. He raised his eyebrows and got up again, and Ian had a split second of worry that he was leaving because he had failed to just be _cool_ and agree without questioning him, but then Mickey just grabbed the coffee pot from its holder and poured himself a cup, and he was back a minute later, stirring in sugar and watching Ian struggle to connect two of the pieces he was holding. Debbie shook her head at him, but she didn’t try to fix it for him again.

          Mickey wasn’t really helping them, but he did sit there sipping his coffee and watching Ian and Debbie try and mostly fail to assemble the rocket. Occasionally he threw in advice about where to put one of the pieces or how they were doing it wrong.

          “So what do you want to see later?” said Mickey a couple of minutes later.

          Ian glanced at him; it hurt a little, and he swallowed down the ache in his chest. His sleeves, too big on him anyway, were pushed up past his elbows and Ian’s gaze trailed momentarily over the muscles in his arms before he remembered to find his way to his face. He was watching him expectantly. Ian sucked on his teeth to keep from blurting out something stupid, like “whatever you want” or “you, ideally.”

          He shrugged instead. “I don’t know. What’s playing?”

          That at least got Mickey out of the room for a minute as he went in search of the newspaper so he could check. Ian breathed out lengthily as soon as he was gone, finally feeling like the air had rushed back into the room. Actually, he was a little dizzy. Possibly because Mickey had just been sitting so close, brushing their arms together every now and again and smelling so viscerally of dirt and smoke and boy. Ian took another couple of measured breaths, trying to prepare for when Mickey returned and once again sucked all the air out with his entrance.

          He threw himself back down into his chair when he returned, startling Ian to his presence, and he looked up before he could check himself. Mickey’s eyes trailed down the newspaper he was holding, giving Ian free reign to check him out all he liked.

          “Okay, couple of options,” said Mickey.

          Ian swallowed. He watched the line of Mickey’s throat work when he spoke. He forgot to breathe again for a second.

          “Lay ‘em on me,” he said.

          “Hmm…weird one about space,” Mickey said, trailing a finger down the paper. “We could see this one, I think Karen told me the main guy was gay. Oh hey, this one probably has explosions. Wanna see a bunch of suited guys blow each other up?”

          “Kind of,” Ian admitted. “Wait, what’s the gay one rated? I’d rather see a bunch of suited guys blow each other, to be honest.”

          Mickey glanced up at him. For a moment, they just held eye contact. Then Mickey started laughing.

          “We’re not watching a porno together, you perv,” he teased.

          Ian rolled his eyes and sincerely hoped that he wasn’t blushing.

          “If I wanted to watch a porno with you, I would’ve just asked,” Ian said. “I know at least four that you would genuinely enjoy. For the plot, of course.”   

          “Of course,” Mickey said scathingly. “Anyway, I’ve probably seen ‘em. Oh wait, shit. The guns one got bad reviews by that guy I hate.”

          Ian snorted. “Which one?”

          Mickey looked up just long enough to level him with a glare before he turned back to the paper.

          “The asshole that gave James Bond shitty reviews.”

          “So we’re going to see guns and explosions?” Ian asked. His finger slipped on one of the pieces, cutting him again. He shook his hand out. “Fuck!”

          “We’re going to see guns and explosions,” Mickey confirmed. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing to your hands? You’re tearing them up, man. You need a bandaid or some shit?”

          Ian looked up again, this time quirking his eyebrow in amusement.

          “I’m fine,” he said.

          Mickey seemed skeptical, but he shrugged it off with a jerk of his shoulders and a little, “Whatever.”

          “Hey,” Ian said a few minutes later, “could you get the superglue?”

          Debbie, who had worked diligently through their conversation about porn and shit talking, finally snapped her head up at that.

          “What are you using superglue for? We don’t need superglue, it’s not in the instructions.”

          “Oh, come on,” Ian said. “This stupid piece won’t stay, if I just—”

          “We’re not touching superglue! Last time you went near that stuff, you almost glued your hand to your face.”

          “You what?” Mickey laughed.

          Ian cast them both withering glances. “Mickey, shut up. Debbie, come on. Just let me glue it, it will be way easier—”  
          “Absolutely not. Out. Just get out.”

          “What? I’m—”

          “You’re making this so much worse. Please just go.”

          And so he was physically shooed from the room by his little sister. Mickey’s laughter followed him up the stairs and all the way to his room, and he managed to slip in before Ian shut the door.

          “Fuck off, I’m not telling you about the superglue incident,” Ian said dismissively.

          Mickey rolled his eyes and leaned back against the closed door, crossing his arms.

          “I wasn’t gonna ask,” he sneered. “Mostly because I know you wouldn’t tell me.”

          “Oh.” Ian sat down on his bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. “Why are you staring at me then?”

          Mickey shook his head. “I’m not,” he said. “Come on, let’s get high and walk down to the park. I’m bored to shit and I have beer.”

          “Okay,” said Ian. He bounced to his feet. Mickey rolled his eyes but shrugged away from the door finally to get his stuff together.

          They left the house twenty minutes later, wrapped up warmly and with Mickey carrying a six-pack under one arm; Ian had weed shoved in one of his coat pockets. It wasn’t the kind he usually smoked, because he had to find old Muggle connects around town instead of just picking up what he usually smoked from his dealer at school—which also meant it wasn’t laced with magic, to his chagrin—but he would take what he could get.

          The park was nearly empty when they hopped the fence to get over. A few groups of people were spread out around, but all of them were under thirty and nobody had kids with them.

          “Nobody shows up here anymore to like, do regular park stuff,” Ian explained as he climbed up the jungle gym, Mickey following behind him. “It’s mostly just troubled teens doing troubled teen things.”

          “Like smoking shitty weed and drinking shitty beer?”

          Ian laughed. “Yeah, like that.”

          He sat down on the ledge that opened up to the monkey bars so his legs could swing off, and Mickey folded himself down next to him, already shrugging out of his winter coat. He was just in a red flannel overshirt and a stained gray tank, but the overall effect was weirdly enchanting. Ian swallowed and looked away.

          “It’s pretty nice out today,” Mickey observed. He was glancing all around the park, since they did have a pretty good view from where they were sitting. “I mean, still cold as fuck obviously. But not bad for December.”

          “Yeah,” Ian agreed vaguely.

          He reached over Mickey’s lap to grab one of the cans of beer he had set down on his other side. His elbow brushed low on Mickey’s stomach as he reached, and a second later Mickey shifted away, curling in on himself a little more and making the contact disappear. Ian flinched and hurriedly got one of the cans out so that he could pull his arm back.

          It could have been unintentional, he reasoned.

          His fingers, ignoring him completely, fumbled to get the can open quickly and press it up to his lips. He chugged for a solid ten seconds before he stopped.

          “Christ,” Mickey said, but he was laughing. Ian looked over; he was watching him. “We should have shotgunned them or something if you were just gonna drink it that fast. At least have a little fun with it.”

          “It’s only half done,” Ian said, rolling his eyes and shaking the can pointedly so the beer inside sloshed audibly.

          “Whatever.” Mickey slurped his beer, loudly. “You gonna roll that joint or what?”

          Ian had to shuffle back onto the platform they were sitting on, and it turned out to be remarkably hard to roll a joint outside, especially because the jungle gym floors had little holes in the bottom of it that the weed kept falling through. Mickey kept looking on and criticizing without actually offering any help whatsoever, and he seemed remarkably impervious to Ian’s dirty looks. Maybe more so than usual, but then again, every time Ian looked at him, no matter his intention, everything in him simultaneously softened and started screaming all at the same time. He cursed to himself the third time this happened and dragged his eyes away to look back at what he was doing.

          They laid down once they lit up. The floor of the jungle gym was cold, but Mickey’s arm was barely an inch from his and Ian could feel the warmth coming from his body heat. Also their hands brushed every time they passed the joint to one another, and it never failed to make Ian’s whole body flush hot.

          Christ. He resisted the urge to smack himself. He really needed to get a grip.

          Even touching felt different now; Ian didn’t know how things could shift quite so quickly, and without him noticing. One minute he was fine, the next he was thinking about Mickey’s fingers and the way they looked holding the joint and the way they tapped lazily across his upper lip when he brought it to his mouth and the way they looked tangled with Ian’s. For a moment he wished his family were around so he had an excuse to take Mickey’s hand.

          Instead, he settled for brushing his fingers across Mickey’s when they passed the joint back and forth. He wondered if he was lingering too long; he wondered if Mickey was pulling away too fast. He wondered if there was something he could take to stop wondering so much.

          Mickey started laughing not long after, the high settling in. Ian himself was getting lighter as it sank into his skin and his head.

          “This is bad,” Ian laughed. “This is so, so bad.”

          “What is?” Mickey asked. He sounded loose, easy. Happy. Ian loved the way he sounded; he knew it was mostly the drug’s fault, but he hoped that just a tiny bit of it, at least, was him. Not just in the way that being around friends made him feel freer, either, but of a different sort of airiness altogether.

          “I’m already stoned,” said Ian, “and when this hits its peak in about twenty minutes, I’m gonna be screwed. Oh my god.”

          Mickey busted out laughing. “Fucking ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. He shoved at Ian’s arm. “God, didn’t we just smoke, like, three days ago? How is your tolerance this low?”

          “I’m evolved,” Ian said loftily, and then started laughing again.

          “Yeah, evolved, my ass,” Mickey snorted. He didn’t really sound that derisive, though, not as much as he probably wanted to sound. “More like you’re a fucking lightweight. This isn’t even laced with magic. How the fuck do you survive the weed we get up at school?”

          “I don’t know. Determination?”

          Mickey scoffed. “You should have been a Gryffindor.”

          Ian sat up abruptly, slapping his hand down on the cold bottom of the jungle gym floor. He gaped down at Mickey. He was half-glaring; he half-meant it.

          “Take that back!” he demanded. “Take that back right now!”

          “It’s true!” Mickey said, laughing as Ian’s expression grew increasingly more offended. “Determination! Valor! Whatever the fuck else you hold up as morals.”

          “Fuck you, just because I have some!” Ian swatted at Mickey’s arm and folded his legs together, crossing them as well as his arms. “You should have been a Slytherin, you ignorant prick!”

          “Oh, _please_ ,” Mickey said, sitting up as well and facing Ian. “Since when have I _ever_ done anything even _remotely_ Slytherin?”

          “Being a selfish ass, for one,” Ian said. Mickey rolled his eyes; they both knew at least half of that wasn’t true, whatever Mickey pretended to the contrary.

          “Okay, because you’re so noble,” said Mickey. “When’s the last time you helped anybody out but yourself?”

          “Hey, I protect what’s mine!”

          “Sorry, since when have you had anything?”

          Ian scoffed. “Got my family,” he said. He flushed a little, but hoped Mickey didn’t notice his cheeks heat. He looked down for a half a second before flicking his eyes back to Mickey’s face. “Got you.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “What the fuck ever. I’m not defending my House to you.”

          “Well, we know one thing.”

          “Do we?”

          “We know you’re definitely not a Ravenclaw,” said Ian, “since you’re _actually_ dumb enough to think I would make a good Gryffindor.”

          Mickey gave an offended, “Hey!” but other than that, he just gave Ian the finger and looked extremely insulted as he settled into a different position, lounging back on his hands instead. Ian just watched him impassively.

          “What’s it like to be the worst person on the planet?” Mickey asked. “I’m just wondering.”

          Ian laughed. “I’m having a good time with it,” he said.

          Mickey shook his head at him. He dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, stuck one between his lips, and mumbled around it, “God. Fucking Slytherins, man.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. After a few minutes, when Mickey didn’t pass the cigarette over, Ian made a grabbing gesture at him until Mickey gave him one of his own. The high was settling in nicely by then, and although Ian didn’t always like to smoke cigarettes after getting high because his lungs protested against the excessive burn and chafe, Mickey brought out a lot of bad habits in him.

          They were quiet while they smoked, occasionally catching each other’s eyes when they glanced up at the same moment. Mickey looked soft when they made eye contact, easy and high and relaxed. Ian wanted to push him onto his back and make out with him on this jungle gym for about four hours, if he could.

          They packed away their smokes and paraphernalia once their cigarettes were burned out and the nubs had been flicked onto the woodchips below. They finished their beers, sharing stories about school, and then Mickey grabbed the rest of the beer and they jumped down off the platform to the ground below. Mickey started walking, so Ian began following automatically, but he just led them over to the rusted, barely usable swingset and tossed his coat and the beer down beside them. They each grabbed a new can and sat down on the swings, not really using them, just swaying gently and rocking with their toes dug into the frozen earth.

          “So, tell me,” Ian said, wrapping his free arm around the chain and sipping at his beer with the other, “what are you going to do this summer? I mean, I know you want to get a flat or whatever by yourself, but like—what? How are you gonna pay for that? You don’t have a job, Mickey.”

          Mickey shrugged, evidently unconcerned. “I’ll get one.”

          “Fresh out of school?” Ian said skeptically. “You can’t get a good Muggle job with no experience and apparently no schooling. And you can hardly put _School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ on your resume.”

          Mickey just tipped his head back. His eyes were closed; he seemed completely unbothered by the conversation or his imminent future that right now had a huge red question mark over it.

          “I’ll figure something out,” he said easily. “I always do. Been working out so far.”

          Ian laughed. “We have starkly different definitions of ‘working out,’ but okay.”

          “Hey, I’m doing just fine,” said Mickey. He had cracked one eye open to look at him.

          “Yeah, ‘cause you’ve got me.”

          Mickey snorted. He still sounded sincere when he said softly, “Yeah, I’ve got you.”

          Ian blinked at him for a second. Then he cleared his throat.

          “I’ll move in with you,” he said. “You know. This summer.”

          Mickey finally opened both his eyes, and he turned towards Ian. He didn’t say anything, he just stared. Then—

          “You’ll what?” Ian just looked at him expectantly, which gave him time to regain his cool composure. He blew out a noisy breath, and it sounded like judgement. “You have a house, man. Whole family just waiting there to feed you. For free.”

          “What’s free?” Ian said. “I work doing the summer, Mick. Then give whatever I make to them to help pay off bills and stuff. I could do it and just put it towards our place instead. No me equals no feeding me or paying for my water and electricity and shit, so it’s not like I’m even really taking anything from them.”

          “You’re taking you from them,” Mickey reminded him.

          Ian just made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat.

          “Okay, I know you said that like you had a point, but I’m not really seeing it.”

          Mickey gave him a weird look that Ian couldn’t discern. “You can’t just move out. You’re sixteen. And they’re your family, Ian.”

          “And what the fuck are you?” Ian asked in disbelief. He ignored the age part completely; he had dealt with more than enough by now, between growing up with no money and going to school alone by the time he was eleven, that he didn’t really think it mattered.

          “I’m your…friend,” Mickey said, stumbling a little over the disgust in his tone. But that wasn’t true, Ian thought, neither of them were right; Mickey was something else altogether. “You’re not doing that for me.”

          “No, I’m not,” Ian agreed. Something flashed across Mickey’s face—Ian thought it was part hurt, part relief. Then he added, “I’m doing it for me. And for you too. Let me help you.”

          Mickey shook his head. “You’re already helping me too much, doing all this.”

          “Hey, so you moved in with me for a month,” said Ian. He smiled crookedly. “Now it’s my turn to move in with you.”

          He earned a tiny laugh for that, and this time when Mickey shook his head, his eyes were creased happily.

          “You’re a dork,” Mickey said.

          “Yeah,” Ian agreed, with a careless shrug. Then, “Tell me you’ll think about it.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes and said, with his usual amount of dramatics as he pretended to do it just for Ian’s benefit, “Okay, okay. I’ll think about it.” Ian grinned, and he added, “That’s not a yes! Christ, stop looking at me like that.”

          “Whatever,” Ian said. He rocked his swing closer so he could more easily kick at Mickey’s ankle. “You love me and the day you say no to me is the day the Earth stops spinning.”

          Mickey’s whole face contorted and he said, “Oh, my fucking god. You’re seriously delusional. I say no to you all the time!”

          “Not when it counts,” Ian argued. “Face it. You would do anything for me. It’s honestly kind of gross. Like, god, get a grip.”

          “Holy shit,” Mickey said loudly. He was blushing now. Ian grinned. “I hate you. I’m leaving. I can’t deal with you when you’re like this.”

          He didn’t so much as make a move to pretend to leave though, and when Ian started laughing, Mickey’s reluctance didn’t negate the fact that he joined right in.

          Ian’s heart felt lighter. Even if Mickey never loved him back, he would be alright—this, here, laughing with him and teasing him and having him look like that…it was enough.

 

          Mandy was not happy to be reconvened at their diner barely six hours after they had last spoken, but that hadn’t stopped Ian from calling her as soon as he and Mickey had gotten back from their movie (it was good—their arms had been touching over the armrest the whole time, and Mickey kept turning to whisper snarky comments in his ear) and having her meet up with him again, this time for lunch. He even showed up early and ordered both of their regular coffees so that her annoyance would be somewhat assuaged, if not disappeared completely.

          Her judgmental expression did soften somewhat when she saw the coffee, and she sighed as she slid into the bench across from Ian.

          “What now?” she said in lieu of greeting, as she shrugged out of her layers. “I just saw you this morning. There can’t have been any new developments. What, did you kiss him or something?”

          “We’ve kissed already, Mands,” Ian reminded her.

          She waved him off. “You know what I mean. Then what? Did you decide to confess your love for him or something?”

          “God no,” said Ian, with a revolted look. “I don’t want him to kill me. No, nothing like that.”

          “Okay, so what?” She picked up her coffee and sipped at it, but her eyes were sharp where they watched him over the rim of the mug.

          He bit his lip. Even though he knew he was being ridiculous, he kind of needed Mandy to tell him, just so he could actually believe it. At the same time he didn’t really want her to make fun of him for the foreseeable future, which she was definitely going to at the end of this conversation.

          “I think he’s freaking out,” said Ian.

          Mandy just looked at him. “Uhm. What do you mean?”

          “Well, we smoked a bunch earlier—”

          “I knew you were stoned!” Mandy cried, a little too loud. They both looked around; a couple of older patrons were staring at them in disapproval. Mandy covered her mouth with her hand and giggled into it. Then, quieter, she said, “I knew it. Anyway. Go on.”

          Ian was blushing a little. “Yeah, so. We, uh, smoked a bunch earlier and he was just being—weird, I don’t know. Like, he would move away if I touched him for too long and he kept just being like, ‘I’m your _friend_ , Ian’ and saying I couldn’t move in with him and stuff. It was so weird.”

          Mandy squinted at him; he obviously hadn’t done a very good job of describing the situation. He sighed. Finally, she said,

          “You want to move in with him?”

          “This summer, yeah. He’s moving out and he doesn’t really have the money to afford a place on his own, so I said I’d help out. He totally turned me down. Well, he tried anyway.”

          “I doubt you let it go that easy,” Mandy snorted. “What’s he gonna do when you go back to school though, huh? We have two more years left. You’ll only be there like, four months out of the year. Plus a couple weeks for break, I guess.

          Ian grimaced around a drink of coffee. “I don’t know. Figure something else out. Rent to someone else or something. But what’s so bad about me helping him out this summer?”

          “Nothing, there’s nothing wrong with it. Just—Jesus, Ian. You really think that’s a good idea?”

          Ian stared at her. “What? Why wouldn’t it be?”

          “You’re already getting in kind of deep, don’t you think? I mean, listen,” she spread her hands out on the table imploringly, half reaching for him. “You’re getting in _really_ deep here, Ian. What if he says yes and you do move in? What if you haven’t gotten over this crush by then and you’re around him _all the time_? I mean, _living_ with him, seriously.”

          “It would just be as friends,” Ian said, wishing he knew whether or not he was lying. He didn’t want to be. “Anyway, what if I do get over him and then he’s screwed out of a place to live just because I was scared that I liked him?”

          Mandy blew out a noisy breath, slumping even further onto the table. “Yeah, I guess I know what you mean,” she conceded. She was frowning, though. “Are you ever gonna tell him?”

          “I don’t know,” Ian admitted. “I don’t think so. He’s—I mean, it’s just friends for him, right? He hasn’t said anything to you?”

          Mandy shook her head. “Sorry. I would have told you first thing if he had.” Ian couldn’t help the dejection that shot through him, and it must have been obvious on his face, because Mandy sat up and said hurriedly, “But I mean, that doesn’t _mean_ anything. Me and Mickey don’t really—talk like this, you know what I mean? Yeah, we hang out and I _guess_ we’re friends, but like. We don’t do,” she snorted softly at the thought, “ _boy talk_ or anything close. And you know him. He would never, ever talk about his feelings. Especially not to me.”

          Ian wanted to put his head in his hands and never look back up. Mandy was starting to look more sympathetic than he could handle.

          “Hey,” she said, “if he was going to talk to anyone about how he felt, he would talk to you. So. I don’t know.”

          “Yeah,” Ian said, “but who would he talk to if he was talking about me?”

          Across from him, Mandy inhaled sharply and puffed her cheeks out, clearly at a loss. Then she breathed out heavily and said, “I don’t know, kid.”

          The thing was, Ian, Mandy, and Karen were Mickey’s closest friends—everybody knew that. So if he couldn’t talk to Ian because it was about him, and he couldn’t talk to Mandy because they were related, and he wouldn’t talk to Karen because the very idea was insane, Ian had no idea what Mickey would do. Internalize it, probably. Which put him right back to square one on figuring out whether Mickey saw them as _just friends_ or if he, too, wanted something more.

          And Ian just didn’t know. He didn’t know how to find out. In all their years as friends, Mickey had _never_ talked to him about liking somebody. He had boys he messed around with, and those stories he was never short on—but feelings? Real, romantic feelings? Ian wasn’t even sure Mickey had the capacity for it.

          “Tell me something,” Ian said hurriedly; he couldn’t think about this anymore. “Distract me. Tell me something.”

          “Okay,” Mandy said. She paused, looking around, clearly searching for something to share. Then she positively lit up, and she looked back at Ian with a bright smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this earlier. I should have texted you last night. _Guess what_.”

          Ian, who was grinning a little at the positively ecstatic look on her face and the thrill coming off her in waves, laughed a little as he said, “What?”

          “Something happened last night.” She was bouncing in her seat. “I slept with someone.”

          “You _what_?” Ian gasped, leaning forwards towards her. “Oh my god, who? Weren’t you at Karen’s all night? I called you pretty late—”

          Mandy bit her lip and nodded hastily.

          “Yeah, I was at Karen’s all night.” Something in her voice was lilted, though—Ian searched around for the hidden meaning, because she was clearly trying to convey something.

          Then he slapped his hands down onto the table, hard. Their coffees shook; some of Ian’s spilled over the edge and splashed down onto the wood. He gaped at her. Mandy giggled and blushed.

          “You didn’t,” Ian whispered, staring at her wide-eyed.

          She reddened even further as she dipped her head in a shallow nod.

          “I did,” she whispered back. “Twice.”

          “Shut the fuck up!” Ian said, a slow grin breaking out over his face as he leaned back into his seat again. “You did not!”

          “I fucking _did_!” Mandy said, her voice climbing so high Ian worried he wouldn’t be able to hear her soon.

          “Holy shit,” he gasped. “What the fuck? Since when? I thought you—”

          “So did I,” Mandy said. Even her nose was pink. She was smiling though, a real smile that made her look so, so beautiful.

          “But you’re—”

          “Oh, Ian, you’re gonna pull that ridiculous bullshit on me, are you? God, you sound like Lip or something.”

          She wrinkled her nose at him. Ian smiled ruefully back.

          “Okay, okay. Fair,” he allowed. “But please don’t ever compare the two of us again, okay?”

          “Oh, are you two fighting again?” Mandy asked, and all at once it was back to normal; Mandy settled back into her chair. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “ _No_ ,” he said, because he didn’t think so but knowing his brother that might change in the time it took him to have this lunch, so he amended, “I don’t think so.”

          “Good, you’re annoying when you’re fighting with him.” She laughed as he raised his middle finger at her. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just, you’re usually all up his ass about how great he is—”

          “Fuck off, I am not!”

          “You idolize him,” Mandy said, nodding knowingly.

          “I do not!” he said. He was admittedly raising his voice a bit; he felt a little scandalized. “Go screw yourself, what do you know? You want to grow up to be Harley Quinn!”

          “Hey, take away the brainwashing and that girl is a credit to our kind!”

          “Supervillain,” Ian snickered.

          “Super nerd,” Mandy retorted, sticking out her tongue. Ian returned the gesture in kind.

          In a weird way, even though she hadn’t solved anything, even though she had only added on drama of her own, Ian felt better sitting there having lunch with Mandy. For an hour or two, he could suspend time and live in this moment of calm forever. In a lot of ways—in all the ones that mattered, when he got down to it—Mandy and him were meant to be, albeit in a different way than he felt for his family, or even for his other friends—even for Mickey.

          He kicked her ankle. She kicked his back. He smiled across the table at his very best friend.

 

          The house was loud when he returned to it, so much so that even he barely heard the door slam behind him. Music was pumping, deafeningly loud, out of the kitchen and reverberating through every single room. Ian supposed that was somewhat inevitable, that any time anyone played music it was bound to pump out into every crevice in a house where the walls all had holes and the supports were shaky and they barely kept up on rent, let alone repair work, but he hardly thought they had to add to it, to help the din along and turn the music up loud enough to hurt his head.

          He found everyone in the kitchen, with the stove turned on and bowls and ingredient strewn all over every available surface. Fiona and Debbie were in the center of most of the chaos. They were dancing together, laughing loudly with their heads thrown back and spinning around in circles together. Lip had Liam hefted up on his hip and was holding one of his hands, making a small facsimile of the twirling moves that their sisters were doing together. Even Carl was in on it, although his moves were much more chaotic; as Ian slid past him, he nudged some of the unwashed bowls that were left out away from the edge of the counter so he wouldn’t send them flying by accident.

          He managed to inch past whatever strange impromptu dance party his siblings had devolved into from what had clearly been an intent to bake and edged his way upstairs instead.

          He didn’t have to go far; Mickey was lounging stretched out across the top step with his book. He looked up as Ian climbed the stairs, and he marked his page and sat up, scooting over to make room. Ian sat down beside him. The step was small, and they were close enough that their thighs were pressing against one another. Ian inhaled sharply, but Mickey didn’t seem to notice.

          Then he leaned in close, lips near Mickey’s ear, but he still had to shout somewhat when he asked, “Having fun?”

          With their proximity, Ian clearly heard the derisive snort that Mickey let out at that.

          “Yeah, right,” Mickey yelled back. He jerked his thumb down the stairs, towards where Ian’s siblings could clearly be heard shouting out spontaneously in delight, in between botched versions of the song that was currently playing. “They always this crazy?”

          “Just when they’ve had sugar,” Ian assured him. “So, yes.”

          Mickey shook his head in disbelief.

          “How long have they been at it?” Ian asked.

          “Half an hour,” Mickey said, “give or take. It started out as just the girls. I thought the explosions coming from your room was annoying, locked up with whatever Carl was doing in there. That’s how I ended up here. Then Liam started crying, Lip was having a loud fucking argument with that girl he was with yesterday. Turns out though, they’re even louder when they all get together.”

          “I know,” Ian said. “I grew up with this.”

          Mickey just stared at him for a second, and then his eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said, sounding both scandalized and accusatory. “You want to join them!”

          “No I don’t!” Ian insisted. Mickey just continued to stare at him in horror, though, and after a few beats Ian started laughing, and he acquiesced, “Okay, okay. I sort of do. Are you telling me you’re not up for a mid-day party, completely sober?”

          “Imagine that,” Mickey said dryly.

          Ian just laughed. He was pressing his luck, already sitting with their legs pressed together and half-shouting directly into each other’s ears so that his lips threatened to touch the shell of his ear every time he spoke, but Ian chanced squeezing Mickey’s arm, teasingly.

          “You sure you don’t want to?” he tried one last time.

          “Hell no,” said Mickey. “No fucking way. I’m going on a walk, maybe head down the block and find a nice, quiet place. You wanna stay in the madhouse, that’s your business. But I’ll just be reading.”

          Ian just grinned, jostling them both a little when he bumped Mickey’s shoulder with his own.

          “Whatever you want,” he said easily. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

          “Or you’ll leave me again to go hang out with my sister while I get eaten by the wild dogs you call a family,” Mickey sneered. He used the wall to push himself to his feet, and then their thigh contact was gone.

          “Don’t worry, the only thing we bite around here is each other’s heads off,” Ian promised.

          Mickey snorted. “Whatever. See you later.”

          Ian didn’t even have a chance to return the farewell before Mickey turned and headed away. Ian looked after him for a second. Then he rolled his eyes, leveraged himself to his feet as well, and went downstairs to join his family.

 

          Later, when his siblings had calmed and Mickey had returned to the house with the sunset, most of them gathered in the living room for what Fiona had deemed one last family movie marathon before the New Year hit and they had to return to school.

          She was sitting in the armchair—Liam had fallen asleep on her lap after losing a battle with the others about what to watch, mostly because he kept shouting, “Veggie Tales Christmas Movie!” and they had all already seen it about five times apiece—and Lip was laying on the other side of the couch from Ian, where he’d thrown himself with the remote so he could flip through the channels. Carl, despite his best efforts to return upstairs to what Ian was sure was the explosions Mickey had heard earlier, was curled up with Debbie on the floor beneath a blanket.

          They found a channel that was playing holiday-themed romcoms and family movies and settled. Mickey, who had gone upstairs to shower and change, returned as the opening credits began. Ian glanced over his shoulder at him and lazily opened his arms, and Mickey sat down heavily beside him, shoving his arms out of the way, but before Ian could so much as think about being hurt by it Mickey wrapped his arm around Ian’s shoulder instead, and Ian smiled softly as he leaned into Mickey’s side. One of his hands landed on Mickey’s thigh, and the other twitched with the desire to wrap itself around Mickey’s, but he resisted the urge to move either and laid his head against the cradle of Mickey’s collarbone, shifting closer as he did. He knew what Mandy had said, about playing it off as friends, but he didn’t care about that, either. He was too exhausted from worrying all day. Ian breathed deeply; this was enough.

          The movie was boring, but Mickey was warm and solid beside him and Ian had bigger worries. A woman in an expensive dress was crying onscreen and Ian didn’t care about whether or not Mickey was reading too much or too little into their kiss, didn’t care what Mandy was doing at Karen’s, he didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. His whole family could jump up from the couches, Frank and Cousin Patrick and Clayton and everyone else they semi-knew could burst through the door, Aunt Ginger could rise from the grave in their backyard, and they could all declare that they hated Ian and never wanted him or his crass, awful boyfriend to return to the house and Ian thought he might never move, might never get up from where he sat wrapped in Mickey’s arms.

          Mickey’s fingers combed through his hair, gentle. Ian wanted to stretch out against him like a sated cat. He tucked his legs up onto the couch beneath him instead and closed his eyes as he shifted further into Mickey, half on top of him already. Mickey didn’t say anything; Ian listened for any sound of protest, but Mickey just breathed in steadily. Ian laid his hand flat against Mickey’s sweater. He ran his hand down Mickey’s stomach, played with the edge of the sweater with his fingers. Mickey breathed out slow. His fingers were calm and relentless as they slid through Ian’s hair, and again, and again.

          With every inch their contact deepened, Ian felt himself getting more and more lost, more and more of himself spinning out of control. Mickey’s fingers in his hair—another piece lost. His hand brushing Mickey’s skin while he ran his hands all over his sweater—another. Mickey laughed at the movie and Ian leaned up to press a soft kiss to his temple. Mickey hummed quietly instead of pulling away. Mickey let him tuck his head back down, further against his neck than before. Another, and another, and another.

          The movie was only about halfway done when Mickey gently untangled his hand from Ian’s hair and rubbed it slow and soothing down his back instead. Ian’s breath hitched, but Mickey didn’t seem to notice. He was kind of afraid to move, afraid that Mickey would stop if he gave any indication that he had noticed this, that he was reading too deeply into this.

          Instead of saying anything, Ian curled his hand around Mickey’s waist, for just a second before he decided to abandon it in favor of running his fingers over the back of Mickey’s hand. His touch was tentative, just a light feathering of fingertips over skin—but then Mickey flipped his palm over, and Ian briefly closed his eyes as his fingers slide home, nestling perfectly between Mickey’s.

          It’s then that Ian noticed what sweater Mickey was wearing. It was ugly and patterned and at first had looked just like any other ugly Christmas sweater, but now Ian recognized it. It was his; he got it from Goodwill a couple of years ago. It’s been passed between him and Lip and Fiona too many times to count, but it was still his sweater.

          He had thought he knew what he was doing. He had thought he could handle the fallout. But it’s then, curled against Mickey’s side, Mickey’s hand rubbing along his back, his fingers tangled with Mickey’s on the couch, his face tucked into his neck, with Mickey wearing his ugly, ugly sweater—that Ian knew. For the first time he really realized exactly just how far south this was going to go.

          Ian shut his eyes. For a moment his mind was blissfully blank again, scrubbed raw with Mickey’s proximity. Then he breathed out, and with it, he whispered:

          “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [xoxo hmu](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/138731270950)


	12. sweater weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, this might be a bad time, but…I kind of need a favor. Remember how I said that—that part of the reason I needed to stay here was because I had all my money at my pop’s place?”  
> “Yeah,” Ian said. “You were gonna buy a flat to use over break, but all your money was stashed away at your house.”  
> Mickey looked over at him now, more head-on than he had been doing before. He looked like he was steeling himself.  
> “I need to get it,” he said steadily. “For the apartment this summer. I need to get my savings now, before I go back to school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: terry, but more as a threat than anything else - spoilers at the bottom just in case you want more details before you proceed

          Ian’s first thought when he woke in the morning was: _Shit_.

          The New Year was approaching faster than he wanted; he was painfully, stomach-contractingly aware that he only had five days until he had to be back at school, until him and Mickey and everything would all be over. He knew it wasn’t real, but that didn’t stop him from feeling something similar as he had that time in third year when he had kissed Roger Spikey and been hit with a hex by his girlfriend the next day that had had him puking every four hours like clockwork until she had seen fit to release him three days later.

          Yeah, it had been unpleasant. This wasn’t much better.

          His second thought when he awoke was that Mickey’s head was crushing his arm and he had lost all feeling below his bicep. He didn’t really mind; it meant that Mickey was mostly laying against his side, their legs tangled together, and he was close enough that Ian could have kissed his neck if he so chose. Of course, his complete lack of upset over the whole thing combined with the fact that yes, he very much did want to kiss Mickey’s neck, only served to send him into another of that rushing spiral of _oh, shit, shit, shit shit_ that he had been in in the first place. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling as the litany of profanity swirled once more through his head.

          Once he had the energy to get up, he still had to deal with rolling Mickey off of his arm. The pins and needles feeling of blood rushing back in was annoying, especially now that he didn’t have the bonus of Mickey’s nearness to offset the irritating sensation with something good. Subsequently, Ian spent most of his time brushing his teeth just rolling his eyes at his own reflection in the mirror. God, even he couldn’t believe himself. He wasn’t really sure why Mandy still talked to him, to be honest, if he sounded anywhere near as pathetic out loud as he did in his head.

          He spit out his mouthful of toothpaste and braced his hands on the edges of the sink, looking up into the mirror.

          “You’re okay,” he told himself sternly. “This is all going to work out. You’re going to be okay.”

          If his reflection could talk, he thought it might have said something like, _Yeah right, genius. Listen to Mandy and start backing off now_.

          “Hey, fuck you,” he snapped at the reflection, “and fuck Mandy too! I’ve got this handled.”

          Still, as he headed down for breakfast, he couldn’t help that nagging voice in the back of his head (which sounded suspiciously like Mandy, which only served to piss him off further) warning him that talking to his reflection was probably not the best way to prove his handle on anything.

          He offered his sister a tiny wave and a tinier smile when he went downstairs and found her standing at the stove, pushing breakfast around in a pan.

          “What are we having?” Ian asked, creeping up behind her to look over her shoulder.

          Fiona elbowed him away from her. “Eggs on toast. Now back off, I’ve already burned myself twice on this shit and the last thing I need is to practice my shoddy first-aid spellwork on somebody else.”

          “Oh shit,” Ian said, laughing a little as he backed off and went to find a seat safely tucked behind the counter, “what’d you do to yourself?”

          At first he thought Fiona was flipping him off, but then he realized she was just brandishing her middle finger as a means to show off the long, thin wound running all along the inside of it. Ian hissed sympathetically.

          “It was worse before,” Fiona assured him, “but it used to be a burn mark, and I don’t know what I did but now it looks like a cut myself on a knife.”

          Ian raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I’ll stay back here.”

          “Good choice.”

          Lip trudged downstairs as Fiona was finishing up, and she piled some food onto a plate for him too as he took the seat beside Ian at the counter. She leaned against the other side, and they ate together in relative but companionable silence. Despite spending nearly a month with them in total chaos, Ian sometimes forgot how peaceful it was to sit and just _be_ with his brother and sister. They spent a lot of time trying to run the household together, with Fiona as the matriarch and Lip her right-hand man, and Ian the backbone that quietly held the supports. In calm moments like these, they just felt like three _people_ , existing in an intimate, responsibility-free vacuum. He could almost forget what it was like to worry in moments like these.

          This was broken in less than ten minutes, when Debbie came downstairs, followed shortly thereafter by Liam, scrubbing at his eyes and complaining of his hunger. Ian sighed softly and got up to wash his plate out in the sink. Time to play backbone again.

          If he left, who would do what he did? Even if nobody noticed him, quietly playing his part in the background, he wasn’t sure he could watch the supports crack and crumble, even if he wasn’t around to actually _see_ it.

          Then Liam reached up to drag a plate off the counter, and Fiona saved it just in time. Lip reheated and served Debbie her breakfast. Lip and Fiona shared a silent look of shared responsibility. Ian shook his head; he was overestimating his own importance.

          Mickey came down soon after, and Ian pushed his other anxieties back into the background. He had more pressing worries.

          Mickey looked really, really good, still in that ugly sweater of Ian’s that hugged him nicely, making him look cozy and warm and _good_. Ian swallowed thickly and crossed the kitchen to wrap and arm around his waist, pulling him close. He pressed his lips against the side of Mickey’s head.

          “Morning,” he murmured.

          Mickey laughed gently and turned in the cradle of Ian’s arm.

          “We’re handsy this morning,” he said, his eyes crinkling in his amusement. Then he reached up and cupped Ian’s face in his hands, and leaned up to brush a soft kiss to his lips. He whispered, “Morning,” before he even opened his eyes or returned back to flat feet.

          Then he untangled himself, and Ian released him automatically. Half of his body—the half that had just been pressed against Mickey—felt a little numb, and he swallowed down his bubbling giddiness in favor of watching Mickey pad away from him to go get some coffee and a plate for himself. Ian swallowed again and went back to the counter to finish his own half-full mug of coffee.

          Liam had tugged Lip out of his chair to go help him upstairs with something, so Mickey took his vacated seat beside Ian at the counter. They shared a small, private smile before Mickey dug into his breakfast. Ian wasn’t expecting anything else; Mickey was rarely vocal before his daily caffeine boost anyway. He would take what pleasantries he could snare, because they were pretty rare in and of themselves, regardless of hour and circumstance.

          Mickey found him later, smoking a cigarette out of his Christmas pack on the front porch. He was doing nothing, trying not even to think, just squinting at the cars racing by every now and then and wondering, wondering. Most of the questions running through his head weren’t even making sense, and he was relieved when he heard the door open behind him. He wasn’t sure if Mickey’s presence made him feel better or worse, but he was happy for the distraction either way.

          Mickey came over and leaned beside him on the railing. Without saying anything, Ian passed over his cigarette. Mickey took it without looking at him and took a long, hearty drag. Ian watched his lips where they were closed over the cigarette and tried not to think about anything at all.

          “I’ve been thinking,” Mickey said finally, as he passed Ian back his cigarette after another two drags.

          Ian quirked an eyebrow at him and tried to keep his cool, because conversations that opened like that were rarely any good. He asked, as levelly as he could, “Thinking about what?”

          Mickey sighed, expelling foggy air out on his breath, visible in the freezing temperatures. He didn’t say anything at first. Ian kept his eyes fixated on his profile, but he didn’t push.

          Then, after Ian had taken a few drags himself and passed him back the cigarette, Mickey brought it to his lips. Right before he pressed it between them, he said, “About what you said. About moving in with me.”

          Ian’s mind raced for a second, but not in confusion; he had been thinking about that all morning, too. He was less sure than he had been when he’d suggested it, and he cursed Mandy for getting into his head. Then he cursed himself for wondering if she was right, then again because he honestly wasn’t sure.

          Mickey, busy smoking, had room for pause where Ian didn’t. He fumbled for something to say and eventually settled on, “Oh?”

          Mickey looked at him finally, a cursory sideway glance that happened to hold instead of waver. He said, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that since you said it, actually.”

          Ian’s heart was racing. He reached out for his cigarette and dragged his fingers along Mickey’s when they passed it back. He thought Mickey’s touch might have been a bigger relief than the smoke when he breathed it deep into his lungs.

          “And what have you decided on?” Ian asked. He wanted Mickey to say yes; he wanted Mickey to say no. He wanted Mickey to make all the decisions he ever had to face.

          Ian breathed out. Mickey said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

          Ian choked. Despite his own mixed up and befuddled feelings, he hadn’t ever really expected Mickey to say no, especially with his insistence.

          “You don’t?” he coughed. He hoped Mickey passed it off as him inhaling the smoke too deeply.

          Then Mickey’s hand was there, rubbing his back. It was so like the way it had been last night and also nothing like that all.

          “Yeah, man,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “You’re too young, I told you. Your family—”

          “Mickey—”

          “No.” Mickey held up his hand. “Look, this might be a bad time, but…I kind of need a favor.”

          Ian blinked up at him from where he had hunched over hacking, and he struggled to get Mickey into focus with his watering eyes. He could tell by his tone that this was something serious, whatever it was. He immediately shelved the argument for later.

          “Lay it on me,” Ian said, only coughing a little bit through the words this time.

          Mickey looked nervous all of a sudden, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and shifting his eyes all over the place, glancing at Ian and at the porch steps and out at the road. He cleared his throat.

          “Remember how I said that—that part of the reason I needed to stay here was because I had all my money at my pop’s place?” Mickey began. His voice was low, steady; he sounded almost cagey.

          “Yeah,” Ian said. “You were gonna buy a flat to use over break, but all your money was stashed away at your house.”

          Mickey looked over at him now, more head-on than he had been doing before. He looked like he was steeling himself.

          “I need to get it,” he said steadily. “For the apartment this summer. I need to get my savings now, before I go back to school.”

          “What?” Ian asked, startled. “You mean—like right now?”

          “Well, before we go back,” said Mickey. “That’s, what? Like three days?”

          “Five,” Ian said automatically. “Five days. But hey, look—why now? Why can’t Mandy or one of your brothers get it for you? You shouldn’t be going back to that house, Mickey, I—I don’t want you to.”

          His voice broke a little on the end, thinking about Mickey, caught breaking into his own home. Thought about what his own father might do. Ian swallowed hard.

          “Yeah, and I don’t fucking want to either, but it’s not about either of us,” said Mickey. “I need that money, man. Or I’ll have to be back there _all summer_. And I can’t go back, not for anything. I already stayed away now, and if I go back he’ll—”

          Mickey didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to.

          “What about Mandy? Your brothers?” Ian asked. “One of them would—”

          “No way,” Mickey said fiercely. “They all got out. I’m not sending anyone back into the lion’s den.”

          “Oh, so it’s better to just go by yourself?” Ian said hotly.

          “Of course not!” Mickey spat, like Ian was stupid for misconstruing him so egregiously.

          “Well then what?” demanded Ian.

          For a handful of unbearably long seconds, Mickey just stared at him. He looked severe, determined. Then he sighed, and the entire mask dropped.

          “I need your help,” he implored. “I’m not asking you to do anything crazy—I know some kids, a couple Ravenclaws in my year who live near me. They can do a cloaking spell on you. All you need to do is see if my dad’s up, and make a distraction while I slip in my window. Two minutes. Three, tops. You’ll be camouflaged, he won’t be able to—”

          “Okay,” Ian said.

          Mickey paused. He looked confused.

          “Okay?” he asked. “I haven’t even—”

          “Okay,” Ian said, cutting him off again. “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

          Mickey watched him nervously for a second. Then he said, “Are you sure you’re—”

          Ian rolled his eyes, and he took another drag of his almost-gone cigarette.

          “I’m there, Mickey. Told you I’d help you, and I meant it. But I have conditions.”

          “Of course you do,” Mickey said with a long-suffering sigh and a hearty roll of his eyes. “Well, come on. Lay it on me.”

          “I’m moving in with you,” Ian said simply. He took one last, small puff of his cigarette and flicked it out into the snow-covered yard, then turned back to Mickey with his expression drawn. He really hoped that for once Mickey would let something go without an argument.

          “Ian,” he said crossly, because of course he wouldn’t let something go without an argument. “We talked about this. We decided about this, like, two minutes ago.”

          “We did not!” Ian said. “I offered to do you—do us _both_ a favor, and you agreed to think about it.”

          “Well I didn’t really mean it!”

          “I know _that_ ,” Ian said. “Shit, Mickey, I’m not an idiot, I’ve known you for how many years now? But now you’ve thought about it, and I’ve thought about it. And I’ve decided that I’m moving in with you this summer.”

          Mickey tipped his head back and mouthed something that, if Ian didn’t know him better, would look like a prayer. But Ian did know him better, and he knew it was likely more of a curse. Then Mickey dipped his head back down and stared him down ferociously.

          “You’re not moving in with me this summer,” he said severely. “I’m not taking you away from your family.”

          “You’re not doing anything! I am! I made this decision!”

          Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, and closed his eyes. “Ian—”

          “No, no more _Ian_ s!” he said angrily. He wanted to stomp his foot, but he didn’t think that would help his maturity case. “That’s the deal, take it or leave it. If you want my help, then we’re gonna be roommates this summer.”

          “Pain in my fucking ass,” Mickey muttered.

          Ian raised his eyebrows. When met with no further answer, however, he sagged against the porch railing, and sighed.

          “What is it, huh?” Ian asked. “Do you…I mean, do you not want to live with me? Because if that’s it, if that’s your hang-up...Has this month been so terrible?”

          Mickey’s eyes grew wide for a split second before he reigned it in. He still hastened to assure him, “No, no, of course not! It’s been—fine. I’m serious, Ian. It’s just—You’re sixteen and I don’t want—I don’t—” He sighed. “You can’t uproot your life for me.”

          “I’m _not_!” Ian cried. “Nobody gives a shit about me, okay? I’d be doing both of us a fucking favor! So if that’s it, then it’s _bullshit_ , Mickey! But if there’s something else, _anything_ else, you have to tell me right now.”

          He had thought—he had honestly, truly, momentarily convinced himself—that there were other factors at play here, something else between them. That maybe not all of it was faked—it couldn’t be. There were parts of the past month that Ian was sure even Mickey couldn’t fake.

          But Ian believed in a lot of things, and he knew not all of them were true. Hopeless romanticism had gotten him into more than just a few corners in the past, obstructed on either side by a rock or a hard place. He had at least two exes that could vouch for his optimism—for his stupidity. He closed his eyes against Mickey’s oncoming rejection—it wasn’t the one he had prepared for, and it wasn’t one he was sure he could take.

          He felt a palm on the side of his face then, and before he could even open his eyes, soft lips brushed against his own. Ian kissed back without thinking, startled. Warmth flushed through him when the hand cradling his cheek firmed and pulled him closer, for just a second. Then Mickey was gone.

          Ian opened his eyes slowly. Mickey looked alive, bright-eyed and red-cheeked and breathless.

          He said, “Are you gonna stop feeling sorry for yourself and help me steal back my stuff, or what?”

          Ian blinked at him for a moment. Then he split into a wide, incorrigible grin.

 

          Mickey’s strategy was simple, even if that very fact made for more than a few holes in the whole plan.

          “We need a plan for if we get caught,” Ian whispered that night, when they were curled up together in his bed and they were only ones awake in the room, breathing ideas into each other’s ears. “Some fallback plan for if Terry catches us snooping around.”

          “He’s not gonna catch us,” Mickey whispered back, his breath warm on Ian’s cheek. They were laying facing one another, their foreheads nearly touching, trying to figure out a plan that would get the job done fastest and with the minimal amount of risk.

          “We’re not going in without a contingency plan, Mick,” Ian said levelly. “Now come on, let’s brainstorm.”

          “ _Brainstorm_?” Mickey repeated scathingly. “What is this, the third grade?”

          “You never went to Muggle school,” Ian shot back, glad of the dark so that, even being as close as they were, Mickey couldn’t see his cheeks tinging red.

          Mickey made an annoyed noise in the back of throat. Ian scoffed.

          “ _So_ ,” Ian said, “come on, what’s the emergency exit plan?”

          Mickey shrugged, the movement awkward from his position, but Ian got the gist of it. “I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

          Ian cracked a rueful smile. “Break everything and run?”

          Mickey gave a startled laugh. “Why break everything?”

          “To, you know…make a path of destruction behind you, so you’re…harder to follow…”

          Mickey clapped his hand over his mouth, shaking with unsung laughter, and Ian chuckled reluctantly along with him.

          “That sounds good to me,” Mickey said, voice still lilting with laughter every couple of syllables. “Break shit and get out.”

          “Break shit and get out,” Ian agreed, grinning ridiculously in the dark.

          He could just make out the outline of Mickey’s mouth, turned upwards just like his, and he wanted so badly to kiss him. Instead he sighed, and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

          “You tired?” Mickey asked.

          Ian gave a noncommittal jerk of his shoulders. “Kind of, I guess,” he admitted.

          Mickey made a little humming sound and turned over. The mattress bounced as he shifted, and Ian took the opportunity to get comfortable too. They each settled in a minute. For awhile Ian lay there, trying to get to sleep.

          He couldn’t, though. Despite the dark of the room, he could _feel_ Mickey, and not just because of the dip in the mattress or the way he could sort of tell where his breathing was coming from. It more than that, more visceral, more basic—he knew Mickey was lying right beside him on the bed, inches away, and every part of him screamed out to touch him, even if just with a few fingertips. It was late and dark and all of Ian’s defenses were down, and he couldn’t _think_ , nothing was making sense in his head, it was just a litany chorus of _Mickey, Mickey, Mickey_. Like a heartbeat, like his own pulse. _Mickey, Mickey, Mickey_.

          Ian pressed his lips together tightly, his breath catching. He opened his eyes again. It was hard to make out details, but he had been laying in the lightless room for long enough that more than just outlines were visible. The paltry moonlight shone in, just enough that he could see the shape of Mickey’s back where he lay on his side, his shoulder rising with his easy breathing. Ian wondered if he was already asleep; at least then he could stop aching to _touch_ and just get some rest, leave them both alone for once.

          Then he heard a sound in the dark, a snuffling almost. Tiny, and brief. Like a sharp inhale through the nose. Enough for him to know that Mickey wasn’t perfectly asleep just yet. His heart started pounding again, and the tingling restarted in his fingertips. _Mickey, Mickey, Mickey_.

          He couldn’t think about it anymore. He reached out, and then brushed the shirt over Mickey’s back—the barest touch, the lightest feathering of fingertips. He hadn’t even made real contact, he had just felt the material of his shirt. Ian caught his breath and reached out again, a half inch further, until he felt the ridge of Mickey’s spine beneath his touch.

          For a second, there was nothing, and Ian almost pulled his hand away. And then, the slightest whisper in the dark:

          “What?”

          Ian startled, drew his arm back. He cleared his throat nervously, but he had nothing to say. After a few seconds of nothing, Mickey spoke again, this time more annoyed than before.

          “ _What_ , Ian?”

          He swallowed hard, a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ian drew his arm back onto his side of the small twin bed, shifting over a little more to put more space between them.

          “Nothing,” he whispered, feeling even smaller than his voice in the wide open night. “Never mind.”

          He felt unreasonably cold. Mickey grumbled a bit but eventually settled, and after ten or so minutes, Ian heard his breathing shallow and even out. Still, it took a long time for Ian to finally get to sleep.

 

          He didn’t hear about their plot until two days later, two days that Ian spent trying to get away with more and more that he shouldn’t be wanting in the first place. Ian was painfully aware of his time as Mickey’s boyfriend slipping away like water through his fingers—the thought had infiltrated into his dreams, too, and if he woke up one more time from a dream about Mickey’s hands or his ass or what he might feel like moaning underneath him, someone was going to start complaining about how much time he spent hogging the shower. Besides, waking up with morning wood beside the very unattainable person that was haunting his wet dreams was growing increasingly unbearable.

          He had just gotten out of one of those showers that was becoming a staple part of his morning—wake up, don’t let Mickey see his boner as he crawls out of bed, go rub one out in the shower—and was scrubbing a towel through his wet hair when he heard somebody clear their throat behind him. He whirled around, but he wasn’t really bothered; there wasn’t anybody in this house that he really cared if they saw him in just his sweatpants.

          “Oh, hey,” Ian said.

          Mickey was standing in the doorway, looking drawn and serious with his arms crossed. Ian raised his eyebrows.

          “Did you…want something?” he asked.

          Mickey cleared his throat again, but he dropped the tough demeanor as he came a little further into the room.

          “I wanna do the hit,” Mickey said. “Tonight.”

          Ian stared at him for about five seconds before he busted out laughing.

          “Oh my god,” he gasped, literally bent over and clutching his knees. He had dropped his towel and was grasping for his nightstand, trying not to fall over completely. Mickey looked aggravated. “Oh my god. ‘ _Do the hit_ ’…am I in a bad mob movie right now?” He straightened and did a quick circle, eyes scanning the room. “Is this a weird hidden camera version of Cops? I have the drugs, officer. I’ll hand them over nicely if you’ll just let me go free.”

          “Fuck off, asshole,” Mickey said crossly, while Ian started laughing hysterically again. “I’m fucking serious!”

          “Okay,” Ian said in a mocking reproduction of Mickey’s voice. “Holy shit. ‘ _Do the hit_ ’—I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack.”

          Mickey made a thick sound of irritation. “Are you gonna help me or not, you prick?”

          “I’m thinking it over again,” Ian said, still grinning widely. “Oh my god. Can we wear ski masks?”

          “Can we—what?! No, we can’t wear fucking ski masks! Holy fuck. I need a beer.”

          “It’s ten a.m.,” Ian noted with amusement.

          “How the fuck is that relevant to me?” Mickey asked.

          He was already backing out of the room. He flipped Ian off with both hands and left, slamming the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Ian doubled over in hysterics again, and between his wild, fit-like sounding laughter and him gasping, “ _‘Do the hit!_ ’” to himself repeatedly, he heard Mickey yell at him to shut up again before he thundered down the stairs.

          He was still chuckling somewhat when he hustled downstairs ten minutes later. Mickey kept shooting glares at him where he was leaning on the counter sipping at a bottle of beer, and when Ian tried to put a complacent hand on his back, he didn’t even get as far as considering an apologetic kiss on the cheek before Mickey, still giving Ian death glares the likes of which he hadn’t seen since he had made fun of Mickey’s attempt at a self-gelling hair spell two years ago, shrugged away from him and retreated to the other side of the counter to sulk and drink in peace. Ian rolled his eyes and set about making himself a poptart.

          Mickey calmed a little over the course of the day; in Ian’s opinion, it was nerves more than determination washing over him, even though Mickey swore up and down—every time Ian asked—that he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

          “Are you sure?” Ian asked for the fifth time as they were clearing their plates after dinner.

          Everyone else was still seated and talking loudly; he and Mickey were side by side at the sink, talking low so nobody would hear them. Ian hadn’t told his family where he was going later; he didn’t want them to worry, or worse, try to come with him or stop him.

          Mickey tilted his head slightly closer. “Yes, I am fucking sure,” he said, enunciating enough to give Ian pause. “I am _fine_ , I am not scared—”

          “Bullshit,” Ian said quietly.

          He hoped it was bullshit. He wasn’t sure—was it worse if Mickey was scared but had been taught to internalize it, or if he wasn’t because he had been desensitized to the fear of violence after all the years he had spent in that house?

          “Not bullshit,” Mickey said firmly.

          “It’s okay if you—”

          “It’s _not_ bullshit,” Mickey reiterated. “Now can you please drop this before you give yourself an aneurysm and you’re no help to me whatsoever?”

          Ian scoffed. “Real nice, Mickey.”

          “Yeah, that’s going on my fucking headstone.” Mickey dropped his plate on the counter and started drying it, which took him a couple steps away from Ian and forced him to drop the conversation. “Midnight sound good to you?”

          “Yeah,” Ian said, resigned. “Looking forward to it.”

 

          Getting out of the house was far easier than he might have thought; aside from the fact that nobody really kept tabs on each other in the middle of the night, he was perfectly free to come and go anyway. No such thing as sneaking out in a house with a missing mother and a neglectful father. Fiona wasn’t even home to chastise him from her role as pseudo-mother; she had gone on a date and didn’t plan to be back until morning. Ian and Mickey pretty much just shrugged on their jackets and walked out through the front door with no resistance whatsoever.

          Getting to Mickey’s was trickier; not only did he not live within driving distance, he didn’t even live in the same _county_ , not by a long shot.

          “What are we gonna do now?” Ian asked, while they stood shivering out on his front walk. At least they had managed to escape the house, but they hadn’t really thought further than that. “We can’t Floo in, it will be way too loud. And you haven’t taken your Apparition lessons yet.”

          “Even if I had, no way I’d be able to take you with me,” Mickey said. “That’s hard enough if we were both legal, let alone if you’re just a tagalong.”

          Ian crossed his arms, in part to keep warm, but partly just because he was feeling kind of huffy over Mickey’s spectacular lack of planning. He glanced up and down the street a few times, but no solution appeared, magical or otherwise.

          Mickey sighed. Instead of answering Ian’s question, he just said, “Fuck.”

          “Okay, shit,” Ian said, echoing Mickey somewhat even if he did sound a bit more upbeat. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “There’s gotta be something else. How else do people get around? Planes?”

          “We can’t get on a fucking plane,” Mickey snapped. “Ah. Goddamn it. I need that money, Ian. I’m fucked without it.”

          “I know,” Ian said, in the best attempt at soothing that he could possibly manage when he was feeling so wound up himself. “It’s okay, we’re gonna get it. We just have to…Wait.”

          Mickey, who had begun pacing in small but relentless circles, looked up. “What?”

          “I heard this thing…but I’m not really sure how to go about it. And I don’t know if it’s—”

          “Tell me,” Mickey demanded.

          Ian worried his lip with his teeth for a moment. Mickey’s gaze was anxious, though, and piercing, and Ian sighed.

          “There was a girl in my third year who had to go home for a funeral once,” he said. “She Flooed out of the castle, but she went straight to the Leaky Cauldron and from there she caught…uh, she said she caught the Knight Bus right to the service.”

          Mickey lit up, but despite the fact that it sort of been his idea, Ian had a few more reservations.

          “But I’ve heard it—”

          “No, that’s perfect,” Mickey insisted.

          “But I’ve—”

          “Ian,” he said, sounding more annoyed now, “that’s going to work.”

          For a few seconds, they stared each other down. Then Ian sighed.

          “Fuck. Fine. How do we—you know. Hail it down?”

          Mickey was silent for a moment, and then he deflated. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

          “You’re the pureblood!” Ian said in exasperation.

          “You’re the one living in a half-and-half neighborhood!” Mickey barked back. “You try getting anything useful done when you’re surrounded by Muggles and can’t so much as take your wand out of your suitcase without your dad screaming about being more fucking careful—”

          “Alright, alright,” Ian shouted him down. He didn’t really want to hear more about Terry than he already knew; if he could leave out details, he’d rather do it. “Come on, let’s just go ask Lip or something—”

          “I am not involving your brother in this,” Mickey said. “No fucking way—”

          “We don’t really have much other choice!” Ian said, already turning around to head back inside. “Come on, Fiona’s not home, nobody’s gonna care where we’re going or what we’re doing. Lip’s gonna want to go back to sleep way more than he’s going to want to know what we’re doing. Trust me. Let’s just go.”

          Mickey grumbled, but ultimately he followed Ian up the stairs back into the house.

          Lip was annoyed, as expected, but he reeled off the details of how to track the bus down in record time; he was already shoving his face back into his pillow before Ian had left the room, and he didn’t so much as ask where they were going. Ian supposed he would have to deal with invasive questions in the morning, but the damage control would be way easier once the danger was out of the way. Ian momentarily thanked a lack of a strong parental guiding force in his life as he booked it back down the stairs and met back up with Mickey in the living room. Mickey spread his hands, on the verge of a question, but Ian shushed him and beckoned him outside.

          “Can I speak now?” Mickey burst out as soon as the door was shut behind them.

          Ian grinned at his annoyance, even as he rolled his eyes. “Permission granted,” he said dryly.

          Mickey didn’t say anything though, just followed Ian as he headed down the curb. Ian paused for a minute, unsure—then he licked his lips and stuck his right hand out into the street.

          For a solid minute, there was nothing. Ian was starting to grow unsure of himself, and he felt a little stupid, standing there past midnight in the wind and cold with his arm stuck out in the empty road. He didn’t dare look back at Mickey.

          Then, just as he was starting to lose all hope, he turned around to say, “Maybe we should go back inside and try again tomorrow,” but he didn’t even get past _go_ before a bright yellow light shone down the end of the road, and Ian jerked his arm back as a huge purple bus came screeching to a stop in front of them. Ian and Mickey glanced at each other; the color was high in Mickey’s cheeks, making him look beautiful and thriving and alive, and Ian laughed giddily as they swung themselves up on board, nearly colliding with someone trying to get off at the same time.

          The conductor was chatty, but Mickey was not; after Ian reeled off their address—and gave the conductor some silver—Mickey snagged his shirt between two fingers and dragged him off onto the top deck.

          The ride was short, and even though they had to wait for a few different stops before their own showed up, they were hopping down onto the street in no time. Ian waved at the driver and then the bus was gone. He turned to look at Mickey instead.

          “Am I good,” he asked, a slow grin breaking over his face, “or am I _fucking good_?”

          “You’re good,” Mickey conceded, throwing an arm around Ian’s shoulders and steering him around so they could start off down the street in the right direction.

          They had given the address of a house just around the corner from Mickey’s, to prevent the lights and clamor of the Knight Bus from alerting his father and any other potential occupants of the house to their presence. Ian took the walk as an opportunity to look around, but there wasn’t much to see. Aside from being nearly one in the morning, Mickey’s neighborhood looked pretty much just the same as it always had, just like Ian’s did—old, rundown, and poor as dirt. He could have lived just streets away, and Ian wouldn’t have known the difference.

          The Milkovich house was dark when they approached, which Mickey warned him meant nothing.

          “He could be awake and too fucked out of his head to turn on a light,” Mickey reasoned as the slowed to a stop outside the front gate. “Or he could have just forgotten to pay the electric bill.”

          Ian shivered a little, and he didn’t think it had anything to do with the weather. Mickey’s arm falling away from his shoulder didn’t exactly do much to help. For the first time in five years, the house looked imposing, and not the rundown shithole Ian knew it to be.

          “Let’s hope he’s asleep,” he said lightly.

          “Because luck loves the two of us so damn much.”

          Ian ignored the pessimism, took a deep breath, and stepped up the front walk.

          He didn’t even make it to the stairs before Mickey’s hissed warnings pulled him back.

          “What the fuck are you doing? Get back here!”

          Ian turned around, confused. “What are you—”

          Mickey was beckoning him frantically though, so Ian returned to where he stood just outside the gate.

          “Are you crazy?” Mickey looked wild, and upset. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

          “How are we supposed to get inside then?” Ian asked.

          Mickey shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother going over plans with you. Come on, we have to go stop by my friends’ down the street first. I can’t do cloaking spells.”

          “You have friends?” Ian commented lightly, following Mickey anyway.

          He kind of thought he deserved the punch to his arm that followed.

          Mickey’s friends were loud and sarcastic, which made a lot of sense in Ian’s opinion. They lightened up a bit when they realized Ian was Lip’s brother, but they were still ribbing him relentlessly as they cast a camouflage spell over him. He wasn’t invisible, just cloaked like a chameleon, his body reflecting whatever was behind him. Mickey said he could still see him when he moved, kind of, but it was good enough for a two-minute mission against a habitual drunk. They thanked the sleepy-looking pair of Ravenclaws, who waved cheerily and then padded back inside.

          “Don’t you need one?” Ian asked as they headed back down towards Mickey’s place.

          “I’ll be fine,” Mickey said, waving him off. “I’ll be in my room, I won’t even have to come across him. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

          Ian watched him worriedly for a second, but then Mickey’s hand closed over his own, dragging him along in Mickey’s wake. Ian shook off his concern and squeezed Mickey’s hand back, hurrying to catch up to his stride.

          The house was still dark and silent when they approached, slowing and quietening their footsteps despite the fact that they would be undetectable anyway all the way out on the street. They paused just inside the front gate, and Mickey used his hold on Ian’s hand to tug him around to face him before he let go. He didn’t say anything, although he looked like he wanted to; he just stared at the general approximation of Ian’s cloaked face.

          “Be careful,” Ian whispered.

          “You too,” Mickey said.

          Ian studied him for a brief second before he grabbed him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Mickey paused for a fraction of a second before his arms came up and he squeezed him back just as hard.

          Ian was slightly breathless when they pulled away. Mickey whispered, “The door should be unlocked. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” and then he turned and ran around the side of the house and was gone.

          Ian felt jittery as he approached the front window, shaking out his numb hands. A plan was half-forming in his head as he stared up at the house wondering how to make a distraction, and he wished desperately that they had made a slightly more concrete plan. Then he shook his head to himself and ran up the front steps instead and, quietly as he could, eased open the door—unlocked, just as Mickey had promised—and slipped inside.

          The living room was dark, and Ian took a moment just to let his eyes adjust after he first stepped inside. He had been inside before, but only a couple of times, and not since last summer; anything could have changed in the time in between, and he didn’t want to risk tripping over something and ruining the whole plan just because he broke his leg on a stray beer bottle.

          Nobody was immediately in sight, which made his heart beat a little faster. The threat of the unknown was infinitely worse. He wished Terry had just passed out on the couch like a normal drunk so Ian could at least keep an eye on him. He really wanted to scope out the house for signs of life, but he would have to pass Mickey’s room to get to most of the other rooms and he didn’t want to draw attention to his whereabouts and risk getting him caught.

          Ian crept into the kitchen, not exactly sure of what he wanted to do yet, but knowing that Mickey was waiting for him to do _something_ that would keep Terry distracted. The backdoor was blocked, to Ian’s chagrin; someone had pushed several chairs and boxes up against it, and when he gave the bottommost chair an experimental tug, it was too heavy to move. Ian sighed, wishing he was of age to carry a wand outside of school. At the very least, he reasoned, he would have a clear shot to the front door if it came to that.

          The kitchen was sparse, nothing really on any of the counters, just the sink overflowing with dirty dishes and some stray bottles and plates scattered around the counters. Ian looked around, taking everything in, wondering how best to go about carrying out his side of things.

          He paused, listening carefully. He could barely, just barely, hear someone stumbling around a few rooms over. He closed his eyes; Terry was awake, and he was going to have to deal with this.

          Ian looked around again, but nothing new had appeared.

          He shrugged. “Fuck it,” he whispered, picked up a half-empty beer can, and threw it as hard as he could into the window over the sink.

          The glass shattered with a _crack_ even louder than Ian had been preparing for, and he jumped as the window broke and split in a spiderweb of cracks and shards.

          Mickey had wanted a distraction, well, he’d gotten one.

          From somewhere inside the house, Ian heard Terry roaring, “What the _fuck_?” and suddenly he was painfully aware that he may have been semi-invisible, but the kitchen was small and he was still very much solid.

          “Oh shit,” Ian said.

          He tried to make a dash for the living room but it was too late—Terry came barreling in through the doorway, and then they were on opposite sides of the kitchen, Ian staring at Terry, Terry gawking at his broken window. Ian froze, trying to stay as still as possible and hoping that that combined with the dark of the house would be sufficient to keep him hidden.

          Then Terry yelled, “Who the _fuck_ is in my _fucking house_?”

          He whipped around to scan the living room and Ian took the opportunity to hurl himself to the floor behind one of the counters, hoping he could just wait this out somehow. He heard Terry swearing more and then him lumbering into the other room, and Ian breathed a near-silent sigh of relief. Their couple of minutes were almost up; if he held in for maybe sixty more seconds, he would be able to find a way out and they would both be in the clear.

          And then—just as he heard Terry retreating further away, back into the house—his head was a repetitive mantra of _just be safe, just be safe, Mickey, fuck, please be safe_ —there was a loud crashing from the other room like something heavy being knocked to the floor. Not from Terry; further back in the house. Something in the back of Ian’s paralyzed brain whispered to him: _Mickey’s room_.

          Ian didn’t even think. He jumped back up to his feet, grabbed the nearest thing he could find (which turned out to be a large, heavy, pseudo-ornate bowl that looked like it had been acquired from some cheap thrift store or maybe stolen from somebody else’s house), and shouted, “Hey, fuckface!” as he hurled that out of jagged window too.

          Whatever glass remained broke and fell outside with the bowl, which shattered piercingly out on the front lawn. Terry whirled back around, his face a bright, furious red. Ian swallowed hard.

          _Just be safe, Mickey._

          “Who the fuck are you?” Terry growled.

          He was squinting into the dimly-lit kitchen, which Ian took as a good sign. He was slurring a little too, and stumbling. Ian just hoped he was still too drunk to have the forethought to turn on the light.

          Unfortunately, he was still blocking the only exit. On that front, his foresight seemed perfectly clear.

          Ian cursed silently and looked around for a way out without turning his head. He was still trying not to move too much, hoping the liquor and the dark would mix with the chameleon charm and be sufficient to keep him hidden. If Terry couldn’t see him, there wasn’t much he could do, even though he now knew that Ian was there.

          God, Ian really hoped Mickey was getting the hell out of the house right now. With any luck, they could both make it out of here unscathed.

          Mickey’s voice resounded in Ian’s head then, reminding him that luck had never really been their friend.

          Ian squeezed his eyes shut hard to dispel the pessimism; he really didn’t need it right then. Terry was still glaring hard in his direction, and some of his limbs were starting to cramp from keeping still for so long. Terry was getting closer too, stalking his way inside. If he got far enough in, Ian could maybe make a run around the other side of him and be fast enough to make it to the front door. It was a long shot, but he didn’t have a lot of options.

          Then Terry drew his wand.

          “Alright, asshole,” he growled, eyes scanning the kitchen too sharply for Ian’s liking. “Come the fuck out here and fight me like a man.”

          Ian swallowed hard. Honestly, he had no problems not being Terry’s definition of a man, especially if it meant he could keep all of his limbs intact.

          They remained in a kind of semi-staredown for a few seconds—as much of one as they could be in, with Terry unable to tell exactly where he was. Then without warning, Terry raised his wand and shot a spell into the kitchen at random.

          Ian managed not to flinch as it whooshed by him, but it was a close thing. Terry growled and fired another, and another—and on his third one, he aimed directly for Ian’s head. Ian didn’t think—he just shouted out incoherently and threw himself sideways, banging painfully into the counter and unleashing a short string of swears as a result.

          He looked up. Terry was staring straight at him. He was wearing a strange, twisted little smile, which Ian didn’t like at all. It was clear that semi-invisible wasn’t enough; that _semi_ was enough to help Terry see directly where he was, a strange human chameleon against the backdrop of the darkened kitchen, visible where he moved.

          Terry got as far as snarling, “Got you, you little bitch—” and Ian didn’t think, he didn’t even have time. He just scrambled up onto the counter and threw himself sideways messily, gracelessly, and frantically. He tumbled headfirst out the broken window, and hit his head hard on the top of the frame before he fell through. He was aware of a harsh, throbbing ache in his head; Terry’s roar of fury from inside the house; sharp, stinging pain along the length of his arm; and, in the distance, the blare of sirens, going on and on and on. Then he hit the front lawn hard on the sea of broken glass, and everything blacked out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so basically they break into mickey's house and they're scared of terry doing something, but he doesn't actually hurt either of them. one of them does get hurt though)
> 
>  
> 
> as always, find me [here](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/139074026460) xoxox


	13. round two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Mickey cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “One month wasn’t enough for you?”  
> Ian swallowed thickly. Then at length, he simply said, “No.”

          Ian hadn’t really been expecting it, but the only one more furious at him than Fiona was Mickey.

          Fiona was still pretty furious, though.

          “You could have been killed,” his sister raged at him late the next morning, even though he was already walking home beside her, all by himself and everything.

          “I’m fine though,” Ian reasoned. She had already relayed Mickey’s frantic, livid message to him when she had come to take him home that morning, and he was walking slowly, not overly eager to get back to the house just yet. “Jesus, Fiona, you’re acting like we don’t have access to magic or something. They stitched me up and I’m good as new—”

          “Taking two potions a day for the next week isn’t _good as new_ ,” Fiona snapped. “Sneaking out and ending up at the hospital isn’t _fine_. You’re fucking lucky Mickey called the cops—”

          “Or Terry would have killed me,” Ian finished for her, rolling his eyes. She had already been through this exact lecture several times that morning. “I know, I know.”

          “He was on top of you,” Fiona said, her voice climbing near hysteria again. “You were already unconscious and he was beating the shit out of you—”

          “Hey, hey, easy,” Ian said as she broke off with an unsteady gasp. He pulled her to a stop, and folded his sister in his arms. She clutched at him more tightly than he really considered necessarily. “I’m okay, Fiona. I swear.”

          Fiona’s nails dug into his back through his shirt. “I know,” she said. “Jesus, Ian. You scared the shit out of me.”

          “I’m sorry.” When he said it, it was significantly more sincere than the brush-offs he had been giving her all morning. She sniffed but let him go, and after sharing unsteady smiles, they started walking again. Ian said, “Things just got way, way out of hand. Totally carried away. It was supposed to be an easy break-in, just grab the money and go—”

          “There’s no such thing as an easy break-in,” Fiona cut him off sharply. “You of all people should know that.”

          As a perpetrator of many a petty crime in his youth (usually aided, abetted, and largely encouraged by Lip), he could hardly argue the point. He ignored it instead.

          “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this,” he insisted. “Mickey needed his money, you know? I couldn’t let him go back to that house alone. You don’t understand what it’s like for him there, Fiona. And when there was a way I could help him get out, like _forever_ , I had to—”

          “You had to take it,” she finished for him on a sigh. “Of course you did, kid.”

          Ian hesitated, chewing on his lip. Then he asked, “How mad is he?”

          “Oh, pretty fucking mad,” Fiona said, nodding. Her tone was reassuring, even if her words weren’t. “I thought he was going to trash your room. Think he wore a hole in the carpet pacing around.”

          Ian groaned. “Fantastic,” he muttered. Harried Mickey was not a good Mickey.

          “It won’t be so bad,” said Fiona bracingly. “Seriously, the worst of it is probably over already.”

          Ian didn’t really believe that, but he didn’t press for further reassurance. There was nothing he could do but go home and face it. He was still stewing in the unpleasantness waiting for him back at the house when Fiona spoke up again suddenly.

          “I just…”

          Ian glanced at her, but she didn’t go on. He squinted at her suspiciously.

          “You just what?”

          She paused, then sighed. Resignedly, she said, “I wish you would be a little more careful around Mickey.”

          Ian stopped, his retort about helping disappearing right out of his throat. He blinked at his sister’s profile, confused, until she turned a distressed expression in his direction.

          “Be more careful around Mickey?” he repeated. For a second, his heart beat faster. She couldn’t know they were faking it, could she? And if she did, did that mean she knew that maybe Ian wasn’t anymore? “What does that mean?”

          Fiona sighed again. “Nothing, Ian, I don’t…I just, I want you to be safe.”

          “I am being safe,” Ian said blankly. “What did you mean by ‘ _be careful_ ’?”

          Fiona ran her hand through her hair, fluffing it between her fingers. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. The silence stretched, longer and longer, and brought Ian’s temper up with it. He felt suddenly on edge, but he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or anxiety or fear.

          “I just…I know how you feel about him,” Fiona said finally, and Ian could breathe again. “He’s the first boyfriend I’ve ever seen you act like _this_ around. And you never bring them home. I know he’s special,” she said, cutting him off before he could even speak, “but just…think about it, okay? You’re getting into trouble for him already—”

          “I’m not ‘getting into trouble for him’,” Ian quoted back at her, annoyance settling over him thickly and suddenly once more. “Jesus, Fiona, it’s not like he suggests we go on crime sprees and I ask him which Unforgivable Curse he wants me to use. He needed a favor and I did him one.”

          “I know,” she said, and she sounded imploring. “I just feel like you’re not being as careful as you could be. Listen, Ian, I’m not asking you to break up with him—”

          “Oh my god,” Ian said loudly over the rest of her sentence, rolling his eyes.

          “I’m not asking you to break up with him! Or see him less, or do anything! I’m happy you’re happy, Ian, honestly. And Mickey’s a great kid. I just want—”

          “For me to be careful?” he supplied dryly.

          “For you to be sure about him,” she corrected, “before you get in too deep. If you’re going to be taking risks like this for him, ending up in the hospital and all this shit…just be sure about him.”

          Ian rubbed hard just beneath his eye, feeling suddenly very exhausted despite spending most of the night unconscious and heavily medicated. After a minute, when he didn’t say anything, Fiona sighed and Ian looked over at her again to find her looking very resigned.

          “ _Are_ you sure about him?” she pressed.

          He thought that Fiona was asking all the wrong questions. In fact, he didn’t really see that there was much of a question at all. Mickey needed help. Ian would help him. He didn’t even need to ask _how_ or _what_ or _what if_. He just would be there, for whatever he needed.

          Really, he had never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

          “I’m sure,” Ian said. “Fiona, I…”

          But the thought had come from nowhere, and he realized that he couldn’t say it out loud. He swallowed hard, feeling those last two words like a heavy lump in his throat.

          Fiona wound her arm through his and leaned into his shoulder.

          “I know you do,” she assured him. “I know.”

          For just a second, Ian allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the calming magic of his older sister. Then he opened them, and she stood up straight, and they kept walking arm in arm towards home.

 

          The house was lively when they got in; the atmosphere felt like a bubbling, sentient thing. Ian was smiling before Lip enclosed him in one of their tight brotherly hugs, before Liam ran up shouting, “Ian!” and flung his arms around Ian’s legs, before Debbie jumped up to hug him around the neck, before Carl let him ruffle his hair and get away with a fist bump.

          And then there was Mickey, standing stoically on the other side of the living room and watching Ian’s homecoming with a closed, guarded expression and his hands on his hips.

          Once the last of the family had gotten in their greetings and they were done peppering him with mostly unanswered questions, they all fell back in a scatter as Ian’s eyes locked on Mickey’s. Carl coughed; Fiona clapped her hands together.

          “Well, alright!” she exclaimed, too cheerfully. “We should let these two work their shit out, huh?”

          It was clear that Carl and Debbie, at least, were aching to see the fallout, but they allowed Fiona to usher them into the kitchen. Lip patted Ian consolingly on the back and then disappeared up the stairs, beckoning Liam up with him. Ian heard the door close on their room upstairs, and then there was silence. All the while, his gaze remained firmly stuck on Mickey’s, and Mickey’s on his.

          Silence rang out.

          Ian coughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He wanted to thank him for calling the police in time to save him, but Mickey telling Fiona to tell Ian that he was going to kick his sore ass up and down the block as soon as he got home wasn’t exactly an encouraging starting point to begin talking about his injuries. Maybe if he waved around the long, thin scar on his arm (already pink and as mended as the healers thought it would ever be, unless he wanted to buy and apply some of their anti-scarring cream, which he really had no desire or money to do) Mickey’s pity would outweigh his upset, at least long enough for Ian to escape to an inhabited area and possibly prevent his own brutal murder.

          Fuck the Milkoviches. They all swore up and down that Terry was the scariest son of a bitch of the lot, but clearly none of them had ever seen Mickey’s stony face.

          Ian swallowed hard and opened his mouth.

          He never even got a word out before Mickey crossed the room in three strides and pulled Ian into a bone-crushingly tight hug. Ian froze, startled. He heard Mickey’s breath hitch and exhale by his ear, and then his brief hesitation broke; he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s back, clutching deep into the fabric of his sweatshirt until he could feel Mickey’s ribs firm beneath his fingertips, and he tucked his face into his neck.

          “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Mickey, I’m okay.”

          They swayed a little where they stood, in the middle of the living room. The sun shone through the windows. Ian nosed at Mickey’s neck where his skin was flushed and warm.

          “I’m okay,” he murmured again.

          Mickey let go of him all at once, and he shoved him back hard. Ian’s back hit the wall between the couch and the foyer, but he didn’t even have a chance to recover before Mickey was in his space again, nose nearly to nose, keeping Ian backed up against the wood.

          “You fucking _idiot_!” he shouted.  “You scared the _shit out of me_!”

          He tried to shove him again in the shoulders but Ian caught his wrists and wrenched his arms apart, away from him.

          “I’m okay!” Ian yelled back, pressing into Mickey’s space too.

          “Yeah, well, what if you weren’t?” Mickey tore his arms away from Ian’s grasp. “What if I hadn’t gotten to a fucking phone in time? What then, asshole? Then it’s on me! I got you into this fucking mess, you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me, that’s on me—”

          “Mickey,” Ian implored, as Mickey’s voice wavered.

          “I’m gonna fucking kill you—”

          Ian reached for him, and his hands found Mickey’s cheeks, clutching at him desperately until Mickey met his eyes.

          “None of this is on you,” Ian swore. “Nothing even happened!”

          Mickey had softened when he had first caught his gaze, but now he scoffed and shoved away from him entirely.

          “Nothing even happened,” he repeated mockingly. He wasn’t looking at Ian; he was facing the entirely other direction. “Nothing even—Jesus Christ, Ian, you almost _died_.”

          “I almost what?” Ian arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “I didn’t even stay at that hospital a full twenty-four hours, Mick. I hardly almost died.”

          Mickey whirled around to face him again. He poked him hard the chest with the index finger he was brandishing at him. Then he started ticking off on his fingers.

          “Bleeding from the head, deep cut on the arm from the broken window, bruised hipbone—” Mickey reeled off before Ian cut him off.

          “Okay, the bruised hip is just from hitting the counter, that’s hardly—”

          “Concussion,” Mickey said loudly, over his protests, “stitches over your eye—”

          “But we have _magic_!” Ian cried. “None of it’s dire! The healers did a couple of spells and charms and potions or whatever, and now I’m—”

          “Badly bruised all over?” Mickey suggested. He sighed and stepped closer, and Ian felt his fingers on his jaw, turning his head slightly to the side so Mickey could imagine the damage more closely. “Christ, Ian. Look at your face.”

          “Worse than usual?” Ian asked, making a poor attempt at a joke.

          Mickey glared. “Yes,” he snapped. “You’re lucky he forgot his wand inside before he started beating the shit out of you on the lawn. When I heard you shout, after I knocked over the book shelf…Shit.” Mickey’s jaw ticked. “It’s all my fucking fault.”

          Ian reached for him automatically, instinctively. He slid his arms around Mickey’s waist and wrapped them snugly around his back. For a second, there was nothing, and then gratification washed over him as he felt Mickey’s arms encircle him and squeeze tight. Ian’s bruised cheek ached dully where it was pressing hard against Mickey’s shoulder, but he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

          “What’s gonna happen to your dad?” Ian mumbled, mostly into Mickey’s shirt.

          “Probably nothing,” Mickey sighed. “We were breaking and entering, and I just know that asshole’s gonna say he was worried for his life or some shit. Besides, they can’t hold him—they never do. If they do ever get him it’s gonna be on a charge much worse than this petty shit, trust me.”

          Ian snorted. “Petty shit,” he snarked.

          Mickey let go with one hand to tug harshly on his hair.

          “You know what I mean,” he said severely.

          Ian nuzzled against his shoulder again. “Yeah,” he sighed.

          He closed his eyes, and Mickey’s hand gentled in his hair, petting through it instead of pulling. He clutched at the back of Mickey’s shirt, stopping him from leaving just in case the thought at some point crossed his mind, but Mickey seemed as disinclined to go anywhere as Ian felt himself.

          After a minute, Mickey said, “I’m mad at you.”

          “I know,” Ian said. He wasn’t particularly concerned as long as Mickey was still holding him like this. “I’m pretty mad at you too.”

          Mickey’s hand stilled in his hair. He tensed like he was going to pull away, and Ian clung to him tighter, only relaxing when Mickey did too.

          “Why are you mad at _me_?”

          This time Ian did pull back, just enough that he could look Mickey in the eye when he gave him his best sad puppy look, but his fingers were still digging into his sides through his shirt. His heart stuttered against his will when Mickey’s touch fell to his ribs and stayed.

          “You weren’t in the hospital when I woke up,” Ian said. “Got scared that he found you too.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes, but his smile was warm. “Told you,” he said, tugging on Ian’s shirt so that he was pulled back into his arms, where Ian went gladly, “piece of cake.”

          “I barely noticed we left the house,” Ian said. He heard Mickey muffle laughter into his hair and a smile ticked across his face as well, tucked into Mickey’s neck again.

          They stood there for a long time then, clutching at each other and saying nothing. They stood so long that they began to sway minutely, clinging together in the dingy living room. Then Mickey whispered, “You promised to stay safe.”

          “I know,” Ian sighed, and squeezed him even tighter, “but I am now.”

          He thought he heard Mickey sniff quietly, but then he pulled back and his face was dry, closed and expressionless except for where his eyes worriedly traced over Ian’s bruised face. Ian let his arms full away, giving Mickey room to step away finally. He only went a couple of feet, but Ian felt the distance like an ache. He immediately longed to be folded back in Mickey’s arms, but he had already abused the privilege enough this morning. He settled for shooting him a tired smile and holding out both his hands, wiggling his fingers until Mickey, casting him unsure and distasted glances, clasped them with his own.

          “Wanna help me come shower and change into something with less blood on it?” Ian asked cheerfully. He swung their hands over the space between them. “Healers say I’m supposed to go easy on my arm for at least the rest of the day.”

          Mickey’s glance down at Ian’s scarred arm was neither subtle nor free of an ugly flash of guilt, but then he looked up again and he was easy, smirking already.

          “I’m not helping you in the shower,” he sneered. “I’ll come up and keep you entertained while you get dressed though.”

          Ian lit up, pleased, and released one of Mickey’s hands; the other he used to tug him up the stairs after him.

          “You could start packing my trunk again to go back to school,” Ian offered in the most honeyed tone he could.

          “Oh I could, could I?” Mickey gave a derisive little laugh; Ian glanced over his shoulder to grin widely at him. “You’re a piece of work, man.”

          Ian just waggled his eyebrows ridiculously and said, “A piece of work that you _love_.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes.

          “We’ll see about that,” he said.

 

\- - -

 

          The day they were meant to go back to school, Ian woke with Mickey’s arm around his waist and a thick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. His heart pulsed dully; he might never wake up like this again.

          Ian left himself suspended in the moment for a long time, feeling everywhere that their bodies were pressed together and longing achingly, before he finally rolled out from underneath Mickey’s arm and got to his feet. He looked down at Mickey for a long minute, watched him curl up in the now-empty space where Ian had been laying, saw the way he clutched the pillow a little closer to his head. Ian smiled softly. Then, recognizing that he had no right to be here, he turned and headed out of the room.

          Fiona was downstairs when he went to scavenge for breakfast a few minutes later. She just nodded at him when she saw him, but they didn’t speak while Ian made himself plain black coffee and buttered himself toast. Then he slid into the seat beside her at the counter and she smiled tiredly at him.

          “How are you?” she asked. “Excited to head back to school?”

          Ian swallowed around the short pang that hit him, one that held the knowledge of what would no longer be his by this time tonight, but it was mostly overshadowed because there was a lot of happiness there, too—he _had_ missed Hogwarts, and sorely. Ian smiled genuinely.

          “Yeah,” he said. “Tonight I’m gonna have a feast for the first time in a month.”

          Fiona smacked feebly at his head. “Watch it,” she said, but she sounded mild. “I do what I can.”

          “I know,” Ian said soberly. Fiona’s gaze was warm.

          “Still, won’t be all bad,” Fiona said. “Mickey will be there. Speaking of—he excited to head back too?”

          Ian shrugged. Somehow, strangely, considering everything they _did_ know about each other, they hadn’t gotten around to talking about their return to school very much.

          “Probably,” he offered.

          “At least you’ll see Mandy more often,” said Fiona.

          “True. Karen, too.” Ian grinned; having his friends around all the time would be a vast mood lifter in the midst of his terminated fake relationship. “Hey, and you’ll have the house to yourself again. Well, and Liam. You and Vee gonna throw a congrats-on-kicking-your-brothers-and-sisters-out party tonight or what?”

          Fiona laughed, and her shoulders shook with it. “Don’t tell Carl,” she said.

          “He wouldn’t be hurt.”

          “No, he’d be jealous.”

          Ian liked it, laughing with Fiona. He never really noticed how much he missed her while he was away, but now, with the thought that their parting was imminent in just a couple of hours, he realized, the way he did every year, that he would miss her greatly. His sister was someone who couldn’t be replicated, and nobody could measure up—nobody could even come close. Ian smiled at her warmly.

          “I love you, Fi.”

          Fiona, in contrast, frowned slightly. She eyed him, her gaze unwavering and cutting deep like only Fiona could do. Then she squeezed his arm with one hand, leaning into him slightly before pulling away.

          “I know you do,” she said. “I love you too. You know I miss you guys when you’re gone.”

          “I know,” Ian sighed. “We do too, Fi, honest. I should—I can write more—”

          “Oh, don’t give me that.” She gave him a scrunched face, waving her hand around. “We both know it’s bullshit. And I don’t want you turning all your attention on here, okay? I want you to have fun with your friends and focus on school. You gotta make something of yourself, Ian. You’re gonna be an Auror, you gotta study.”

          “I can be an Auror and still write my family,” Ian said.

          Fiona ruffled his hair. “I know _Aurors_ can. But _you_ can’t.”

          “Hey!”

          He batted her hand away from his head, and she laughed. Then she swiped her thumb down his cheek, affectionately, but still gently enough to mind his bruises. They were lighter this morning, blotches of yellow intermingling with the purple and blue.

          “Still ugly?”

          “Uglier,” she said.

          Ian rolled his eyes, but he was glad that she was smiling. Fiona worried too much. Even if it was his expense, he wanted her to be happy. Fiona grinned and bumped her shoulder into his.

          “Now go on, shoo,” she said, waving her hands towards the stairs. “Finish eating and then get packing. I know you still have shit all over your room. Wake Mickey and Lip up too, you guys need to head out in less two hours. I’ll get the kids.”

          Ian rolled his eyes again, this time in compliance as he swung himself off the chair, gulped down the rest of his coffee, and trudged upstairs, stuffing his toast into his mouth as he went.

          He went to Lip first, shaking his leg furiously while Lip mumbled into his pillow and tossed and turned, curling closer to the wall. Ian had to climb up the side of the bed and jump on top of him before he woke up, blinking and glaring at the same time.

          “The fuck you want, man?” he asked, shoving feebly at Ian’s shoulder.

          “Fiona sent me to wake you up,” he said. “We gotta leave in an hour and a half and you know how she gets antsy—”

          “I have another hour then,” Lip said decisively, shoving his face back into his pillow.

          Ian groaned and tugged feebly at his arm, trying to flip him over. “Lip—”

          “Get the fuck off me—”

          “I’m just trying to—”

          “Get _off_!”

          Lip ripped his arm free with a hard tug, and then he brought it back to elbow Ian hard in the chest. Ian let out a little _oomph_ of surprise and pain, and then he toppled backwards off the side of the bed.

          He just heard, “Oh shit!” above his head and then he hit the floor hard, and he rolled onto his back, groaning. He could hear Lip scrambling down from the top bunk and then he was being tugged up to a sitting position by his hand. Ian opened his eyes blearily.

          “Shit, did you hit your head again?” Fingers probed under his hair, and then his brother muttered another, “Shit.”

          “I’m fine,” Ian said, fending off Lip’s worried, searching hands. “I’m already all banged up, how much worse can I get? Help me up.”

          Lip grabbed his arm with the hand not closed over his own and together they got Ian to his feet. He stumbled a little, and Lip’s hand found his back instead, steadying him.

          “You okay?” he asked, ducking to meet his gaze.

          “Yeah. Woah.” Ian blinked, and the room stopped wobbling so much. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

          “Christ, you need to stop getting hurt,” Lip muttered as he let him go.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “That was your fault, jackass,” he said, shoving Lip away from him. Lip stumbled back, grinning.

          “Whatever. Hey Mickey!” he called, and he stooped to scoop up a stray t-shirt on the floor that he then lobbed at where Mickey was still fast asleep on Ian’s bed. “Come clean your boyfriend up, I think I reopened a wound.”

          Mickey lifted his head from the pillow, pulling Lip’s shirt off his face.

          “Wha?”

          “Ian’s bleeding again,” Lip said cheerfully. Ian elbowed him in the chest.

          “Fuck,” Mickey muttered. He sounded more asleep than anything, and he dragged his hand down his face. “Alright, alright, I’m getting up.”

          “Lip’s just being an asshole, I’m fine,” Ian insisted.

          “Shut the fuck up and follow me, Gallagher,” Mickey said, stumbling out of bed. He pushed past Ian and into the hall. Ian took a second to glare fiercely at Lip before following Mickey out of the room.

          He found him brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and Mickey looked at him in the mirror as he came in. Ian waited, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, as Mickey spit and turned the water on. Then he gestured for Ian to come closer, and Ian sighed and stepped into the room.

          “It’s no big deal, really,” Ian said.

          Mickey ignored him. Instead he took his chin in hand and turned his head to either side, examining his face closely.

          “Bruised your cheek a little more, but you’ll live,” Mickey declared. “Sit down. What happened?”

          Ian sat heavily on the closed toilet lid, sighing dramatically.

          “Stop worrying over me,” he said. “I’m _fine_. I’ve fallen off the top bunk a hundred times.”

          “Tell that to the reopened stitches. Come here, the Healers told me how to fix it.”

          “They’re not reopened, just bleeding a little.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Not better,” he said scathingly.

          He pulled the footstool up beside him, and Ian spread his legs so Mickey could get close. They were almost eye-to-eye sitting like this, and Ian wasn’t sure where to look while Mickey was so close, dabbing at his forehead with a warmlywet towel. He tried to look at his eyes, but Mickey was watching his hands work, and Ian ended up looking more towards his parted lips instead.

          Mickey’s touch was so soft against him, and it was uncomfortable and silly but Ian was in love with the way his fist bumped against the bridge of Ian’s nose every time he blotted the blood away. Ian didn’t realize he was smiling until Mickey’s gaze flickered down and he grunted, “The fuck you smirkin’ about?”

          Ian pressed his lips together. “I’m not.”

          “Yes you fucking are,” Mickey said. “Fess up, what are you high or something?”

          “Fuck off,” Ian said.

          “Ian.”

          “Mickey,” he mocked.

          “ _Ian_ —”

          “Nothing’s up, let it go,” Ian insisted. “Jeez. You almost done or what?”

          Mickey paused to give him a withering glance, but at length he threw the towel down and said, “Yeah, but sit tight. I’ll be back in a sec.”

          Ian made sure Mickey could hear him sigh as he walked out of the room, and he knew it landed when the last thing he saw was Mickey’s middle finger disappearing around the doorway.

          His mood shallowed when Mickey was gone, and Ian didn’t want to think about why. Still, he could _feel_ it—could feel that dull panging in his chest at the thought that he was this close to losing everything. One and a half hours.

          Mickey wasn’t his boyfriend, and he wasn’t going to be. No more holding hands beneath the table, no more cuddling on the couch, no more sleeping spooned up together, no more kisses on the porch. They had had most of that, before, back when none of it had meant anything. Ian just wasn’t sure that he could do all those things again, be that person, when his heart sang out for Mickey all the time and he could never even have the pretending, ever again. He couldn’t give everything and not have it be seen for what it was. It would hurt too much.

          Footsteps came closer, and then there were feet in the doorway again. Ian swallowed thickly and looked up, eyes traveling slowly over bare legs to boxers to a thin cotton tank to where Mickey was watching him, eyes soft and unreadable.

          “One more thing,” Mickey said, holding his wand aloft.

          Ian closed his eyes as Mickey came closer and resumed his seat. He never really liked when other people performed magic on him, especially students, and _especially_ Mickey, whom he had seen set things on fire more times than he could count. Not all of it was on purpose, either.

          Mickey tapped his wand against his forehead, whispered, “ _Sutura_.”

          Sharp pain twinged through his stitches, and they burned hot for a moment before it stopped and cooled. Ian cracked his eyes open.

          “Why did you look so scared?” Mickey scoffed. “Don’t you trust me?”

          “Yeah, I trust the barely-legal delinquent to perform surgery on me.” Ian rolled his eyes.

          “Shut up,” Mickey laughed.

          “Be honest—did they tell you to do that?”

          “Yes!” Mickey said, offended. Then he loosened and added, “Well, technically they said that a legal guardian or licensed Healer should do it if it started bleeding on its own. I took that to mean I should take care of it myself in your bathroom if your brother knocked you off a bed and shook a few stitches loose.”

          Ian rolled his eyes, elbowing Mickey out of the way as he got up. He situated himself in front of the sink and started washing his face, scrubbing away the last of the lingering blood smeared on his skin.

          “You should work at the hospital,” he said scathingly.

          “I know,” Mickey gloated. “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke if you do, though, so…nah.”

          “Yeah, _that’s_ the only thing stopping you.”

          Mickey glared at him, Ian caught it the mirror. He grinned back, all teeth.

          “As if I’d want to be a fucking Healer.”

          “That, and the surprising legality of the whole thing,” Ian said lightly. “Oh admit it, Mickey! You love the thrill of rule-breaking.”

          Mickey cracked a smile, but Ian could tell it was reluctant.

          “Whatever, Gallagher.”

          “Fuck off with that ‘Gallagher’ shit,” said Ian. “Anyways, I’m just kidding. You know you can do whatever the fuck you want if you really tried to just do it.”

          Mickey’s cheeks tinged faintly pink, and he looked away from where Ian had his gaze held in the glass. Ian smirked and grabbed a dry, unstained towel to dab his face clean. He heard Mickey snort softly. By the time he pulled the towel away, he was alone in the bathroom.

 

          Every year Ian spent the last ten minutes before the train arrived hoping, hoping that it would somehow be late and give him a few extra minutes talking and laughing and being with his siblings.

          This year, as with every year, the Hogwarts Express announced that they would be leaving in five minutes at exactly 10:55.

          Ian turned to his sister as stoically as he could. She looked sad but proud, the way she always did. When she opened her arms, Ian stepped gratefully into her embrace and hugged her back even tighter than she held him.

          “I’m gonna miss you kids,” she whispered into his hair. She pulled back, sniffled, and swept a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Mickey, too. I would tell him myself, but—”

          “I don’t think that would go over too well,” Ian chuckled. He wanted to wipe at his eyes, but the wet hadn’t spilled over yet and he didn’t want to draw the others’ attention to it. “Well, I’ll tell him for you. Later. When we’re on the train.”

          “Far away from me, please,” said Fiona, smiling even though her eyes were watery too.

          Ian huffed. “Sure thing,” he promised.

          Fiona turned to enfold Debbie and Carl in each arm then, and Ian crouched down to where Liam was standing a few feet away, poking his fingers through the bars of an owl cage. Ian scooped him up, shooting the snooty-looking woman holding the cart a judgmental look back.

          “Gonna miss you, little buddy,” Ian said. His voice came out distorted, as Liam was squishing his cheeks between his hands and giggling.

          “You’re going again?” He sounded disappointed, but resigned somehow. Maybe he was used to them leaving already; the thought broke Ian’s heart a little.

          He hitched a brave smile back on his face, placated when Liam stuffed his fingers into his own mouth and pulled a wide grin back.

          “Yeah, I am. But I’ll be back real soon, I promise.”

          “You promise?” Liam asked. He squinted at him suspiciously, putting his hands on Ian’s shoulders to give himself some room to lean back and look at him. “How soon?”

          “Couple months,” Ian said, and Liam frowned. “I’ll be home for Easter break for a whole week!”

          “What about Mickey?” Liam asked. “Is he gonna come back too?”

          “Maybe,” Ian hedged, because truthfully—and the thought hurt him more than anything—he didn’t really know where either of them would be by then.

          “Well could you ask him?”

          Ian laughed and bounced his brother a little in his arms, making him giggle again too.

          “I’ll try, bud.”

          Then he tickled him to really get him squealing, and Liam looked happy by the time Ian kissed his cheek and set him down to go run back to play with the owl.

          Ian turned back to where Fiona was talking to Mickey, leaning close and talking low. Ian watched them suspiciously for a moment, until all of their attentions were otherwise diverted.

          “Fiona, we’re gonna be late,” Lip said, “let him go. We need to board.”

          “Alright, alright.” Fiona sniffed. “Have fun guys. Stay safe. And Carl, could you actually do your work this semester? If I get one more owl that you’re this close to failing out—”

          “I won’t repeat a year again, god,” said Carl. “Now let me go, _Mom_. I want to find my friends.”

          “ _Okay_. One more hug, come on.”

          “ _Ugh_.”

          He went though, and when she was done hugging the others as well, Ian wrapped her in one last quick one. She kissed his cheek as he pulled away.

          “See you in a few months.”

          “Write me!”

          Ian rolled his eyes and grabbed Mickey’s hand to tow him away towards the train. Mickey huffed and said, “Oh, _now_ you’re pulling me? Fuck off, I’ve been trying to go for ten minutes.”

          Ian ignored him. He waved goodbye to his Lip and Debbie as they parted on the train, but Carl loped along behind him and Mickey and slid his bag into the overhead compartment as they found seats in an empty cabin. Ian let go of Mickey to follow suit, but when he threw himself down into a seat, Mickey didn’t do the same.

          “Should I go find Mandy and Karen?”

          Ian shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t see them this morning. I don’t know where they are.”

          “Shit. I’ll be back.”

          “Whatever.”

          Ian waved vaguely as he left. When he turned back, his brother was watching him with interest. Ian raised a brow.

          “You two are weird,” Carl declared after a stalled moment. “Aren’t couples supposed to be nice to each other?”

          “We are nice to each other. Just, in our own way.”

          “Uh-huh.”

          “Shut up! Who are you to judge, anyway. The guy you liked before Bonnie used to sling peas at you in the great hall.”

          Carl squinted at him for a minute. Then he said, “Fair enough.”

          They didn’t speak much again until Mickey came back. He returned without the girls, and when asked, he just shrugged and flung himself down beside Ian, slinging his legs over his lap.

          “Couldn’t find them,” he said. “Probably meet up with them at dinner or something.”

          “Ah, shit,” said Ian. “I had to tell Mandy something.”

          “Save your girl talk for later, when I’m not here,” Mickey said. “When’s the snack cart coming?”  
          “Couple hours, Mick. Fi made us sandwiches if you want.”

          Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Me too?”

          Ian afforded him a lopsided smile. He knew it made him look way too affectionate, but he didn’t care—he felt it. He had always been a terrible liar.

          “Yeah, you too. Oh, and she sends her love.”

          “Fuck off.”

          “It’s true! She said she’ll miss you.”

          “Shut the fuck up. I fucking hate you Gallaghers.”

          Ian laughed and reached over to pinch his cheek, and Mickey hit his wrist away hard.

          “Aw, she loves you. You have a second family!”

          “I’m gonna kill you,” Mickey growled. “Kill you _dead_.”

          “Ooh, I shiver.” Ian snickered. “Scariest boyfriend in the wizarding world!”

          He hadn’t meant to say it; all at once, his stomach dropped out. He only had time to notice Mickey’s eyes widening for a split second when, from the other side of their compartment, Carl gagged. The sound drew both of their attentions away from each other.

          “You two are making me sick. I’m going to take a piss.”

          “Hey,” Ian called right before he slid the door shut, “don’t come back for like, ten minutes, okay?”

          Carl wrinkled his nose. “Are you gonna be fucking?”

          Ian stared at him. “These doors are glass, Carl.”

          “So, that’s a yes?”

          “Just some light making out,” Ian assured him.

          Carl made another thick sound of disgust and slid the door shut hard. Ian chuckled, but something thick and dark was churning in the pit of his stomach. When Mickey didn’t seem to share his dim amusement, Ian tapped his fingers along his shin and tilted his head at him.

          “What are you thinking about?” Ian asked.

          Mickey grimaced. “Dreading whatever you want to talk to me about, honestly.”

          “What makes you think I want to talk to you about something?”

          “‘Don’t come back for ten minutes,’” Mickey quoted at him. “Since we’re not, you know, _actually_ dating or fucking or whatever, you obviously have something on your mind. So, spill.”

          Ian flushed lightly; he really was the most transparent person he knew. He had been hoping for a few extra minutes to gear himself up, but that no longer seemed feasible. He bit his lip.

          Mickey scoffed. “Oh, come on. Just tell me.” When Ian didn’t say anything, he said a little more forcefully, “Out with it!”

          “I’m just…” Ian sighed. “I’ve just been…thinking.”

          Mandy was _not_ going to approve. Ian pushed the thought away; he wasn’t sure if he was being honest or not, but he really hoped he was.

          “Thinking,” Mickey repeated blankly. “Well, that’s never good.”

          Ian reached over to swat at his shoulder, which at least finally elicited a laugh from him. Ian loved when Mickey laughed; his eyes crinkled at the edges and his entire face, his entire _body_ softened. He wasn’t usually happy, but when he was—god. Nobody did happiness like Mickey.

          Ian swallowed.

          “Fiona really likes you,” he started.

          “So I’ve heard. She has poor taste.”

          “Me, too,” Ian said ruefully. “Uh—anyway.”

          He didn’t go on though, and after a minute, Mickey looked down and rubbed at his chin, his forehead wrinkled. Ian chewed his lip. Mickey looked up.

          “If you’re not gonna spit this out anytime soon, I need to ask you something.”

          Ian just blinked at him, trying to hide the growing ominous feeling in his gut.

          “Oh? What about?”

          Mickey was looking troubled again, and he wouldn’t look at Ian’s face. Instead he picked a tear in his jeans and stared at his fingers working determinedly before he asked,

          “Why did you just say I was your boyfriend still?”

          Ian cleared his throat. “I mean—Should I have said something else? Carl was here.”

          “I know,” Mickey said, but he didn’t sound like he knew. “But we’re not, you know, gonna be together at school and everything. Don’t you think—Isn’t it better to get this out of the way now?”

          Ian decided, abruptly, to play dumb. “Get what out of the way?”

          Mickey finally looked up at him, and his face was clearer. He gestured violently between them and said, “This! Us! When is it a good time to tell everyone we broke up, or whatever?”

          A thick wave of hurt washed over him, and Ian didn’t lie to himself about why. Mickey wasn’t _really_ breaking up with him, but it still felt that way regardless.

          “I just don’t want Fiona to think we were lying to her,” Ian said after a beat, desperate to cover his own rapidly fracturing heart.

          “But we _were_ lying to her!”

          “Well, I don’t want her to know that,” Ian snapped. “I just…shit.”

          “What?” Mickey said testily. When Ian didn’t look up, Mickey snapped his fingers at him until he met his eyes. “Spit it out, Ian.”

          “I just think we should…keep it up a little longer.”

          He said the last part in a rush, and he couldn’t look Mickey in the eye while he said it; instead he stared at the wall just above his shoulder, but he could still clearly see Mickey’s open mouth and creased brow in his periphery, and it made his stomach turn twice.

          “What?” Mickey said after a good fifteen seconds where Ian thought he was going to be sick more and more with each one that passed. “You want to like, what? Keep pretending to be each other’s boyfriend at school and shit?”

          Heat was rising to his face, and Ian still couldn’t look at him. He was afraid if he spoke he was going to either throw up or cry, so he just nodded curtly.

          “Wow.”

          He didn’t sound _too_ aggressive; Ian chanced looking at him directly, and was surprised to find that he didn’t seem annoyed or upset in any way, just somewhat taken aback.

          “I just…think it would be good. You know. Keep it up for another month or two, just enough that Fiona isn’t suspicious about any of it. Then we can just say we were better off friends and had a clean break or whatever. Then we go back to just being best friends.”

          Mickey didn’t say anything for a long moment. Hope and dread were warring inside of Ian, but now that he had looked at him once, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.

          Then, finally, Mickey cleared his throat.

          “Let me get this straight,” he said. “One month wasn’t enough for you?”

          Ian swallowed thickly. Then at length, he simply said, “No.”

          He didn’t realize he had such a tight grip around Mickey’s leg until Mickey gently pulled it free and brought his knees to his chest. He carelessly slung an arm over them, but Ian thought it was the closest to wrapping his arms around them that Mickey would dare to look. This was already so vulnerable, coming from him.

          Then Mickey shrugged and said, “Okay.”

          Ian’s heart sped up, and he could barely hear himself when he said, “Okay?”

          Mickey chuckled and lightly kicked him in the thigh. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. Let’s do it.”

          “Are you—”

          “Christ, you just talked me into it. Don’t talk me out now.”

          His smile was soft though, and Ian’s heart was screaming at him to take his hand, to kiss him, to do _something_. Before he could decide on an appropriate reaction—though he was edging towards an enthusiastic hug—there was a knock on their compartment door and Carl’s voice called, “Is it safe to come in yet?”

          Ian laughed. “Yeah, man, we’re all clothed. Come on in.”

          “Thank god,” Carl sighed as he slid the door open. “Oh, and I found Bonnie.”

          “Hey guys,” she said, stepping in after him with a little wave at the two of them.

          “Hey Bonnie,” Ian said. His heart was soaring and he was smiling at her just a little too widely, but he just felt so good. He didn’t care.

          He glanced over at Mickey, who had dug out a cigarette and was smoking it, looking bored. Ian didn’t bother to restrict his grin.

 

          Ian found Karen and Mandy on the platform when they got off the train, talking with their heads together and laughing. He waved, and they waved back. When he got close enough they took turns hugging him.

          “It’s only been a few days,” Ian laughed.

          Mandy shrugged. Her cheeks were pink, although it might have been from the cold, but she still looked good with some color in her.

          “So? I’m allowed to miss you, asshole.” She punched his shoulder for good measure, and Ian laughed, acquiescing.

          He sobered quickly. “I have to tell you something,” he said, but that was as far as he got before Mickey walked up behind him.

          “Thanks for the help,” he said dryly, lifting his bag to indicate the source of his heavy displeasure. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “No problem.”

          “Ian?” Mandy said. “You said you had something to—”

          “Never mind right now,” Ian said quickly. “Let’s find a carriage, alright?”

          Mandy squinted suspiciously at him, but she agreed. Karen pointed out an empty one a few seconds later, and as they hurried to pile in before anyone else could, the thread of the conversation was lost. Ian had no real interest in revisiting it with Mickey right there.

          Technically he should have sat at his own table his first day back, but he and Karen both joined the Hufflepuffs instead. In the chaos of the feast, nobody really noticed or said anything as they piled in with the crowd and all found seats beside one another.

          Mickey was normal throughout dinner. Ian sat close to him and their thighs were touching beneath the table, and Mickey was warm and thrilling and alive, and Ian almost dropped his fork three times getting distracted just thinking about him. Karen was shooting him weird looks, but he ignored them—he would have to tell her at some point that none of it was real, he supposed, but he wasn’t in the mood to have that conversation anytime soon. She had been angry enough that they hadn’t told her they were dating in the first place; he wasn’t about to mention that he had been lying to her—that they both had, with Mandy a keeper of their little secret—for over a month.

          He almost got off without any trouble from either of the girls, but then ten minutes before the feast ended, Mickey said,

          “Hey, I’m tired. I think I’m gonna head up to bed.”

          Ian glanced at him. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

          Mickey grinned. “I’ll wake you up for class, dickhead. Night.”

          Ian spooned more food into his mouth, and Mickey leaned over to kiss Ian on the cheek and then swung himself off the bench and got to his feet. Smiling to himself, Ian squeezed Mickey’s arm in farewell instead of talking around his mouthful. Mickey brushed his fingers against the back of Ian’s neck and then was gone.

          Ian, busy looking down at his dinner and chewing, did not immediately notice that Mandy was staring at him with wide eyes and a cross yet confused expression until he looked up and stopped dead.

          “What?”

          Mandy cleared her throat. “Uh, Ian, can I _talk to you_?”

          Ian swallowed his mouthful, too much at once. Mandy at least waited until he stopped coughing and pounding his chest to say, “ _Ian_?”

          “Alright, alright,” he said, waving her off. “Can it wait a goddamned minute?”

          “No, best friend of mine, it cannot. Get up. Entrance hall, _now_.”

          Karen was looking between the two of them with unmasked bewilderment, but Mandy stalked off without explaining herself. Ian shrugged at her, but he was sure his red face and the way sweat had started beading his hairline was a dead giveaway that something was up. Before she could start asking invasive questions that would only cause more fighting, Ian fled the great hall after Mandy.

          “Are you _kidding_?!” she burst out as soon as Ian came through the doors.

          Ian stepped back in alarm, out of reach of her flailing hands. Then he held up his own.

          “Mandy, listen—”

          “Do not ‘Mandy, listen’ me, Ian Gallagher!” she said, poking him in the chest with a finger. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

          He was under no delusions about playing this off. Instead he spread his hands helplessly.

          “I didn’t want Fiona to be mad,” he said. Even to him, it sounded weak, much less reasonable than it had in his head or on the train. Judging by her ever-rising eyebrows, Mandy thought so too.

          “Oh, my god. So you decided to completely fuck yourself up with no hope of getting out of this one unscathed, huh?”

          Ian sighed. “I know it sounds stupid—”

          “Yes, it does! Very, very stupid! Ian, you are in _way_ too deep. I told you this before and you didn’t listen, but you have got to break this off—”

          “Would you stop pacing for about two seconds and let me explain?” he snapped. She paused to stare in disbelief, and Ian swiped his hands over his face. “Christ. I don’t want to fight with you, Mandy. There’s enough going on here, if we’re being honest.”

          “I don’t want to fight with you either,” she said, softer. “I just want you to be sensible. Listen, I know you’re in love with him—”

          “Be careful,” Ian warned.

          She plowed on heedlessly, “—but you can’t keep doing this to yourself! I can’t watch.”

          “I’m not asking you to,” he said.

          “So what? You’re gonna date him at school, too? Ian, pretty soon that’s gonna get out of hand.”

          “It’s already out of hand,” he sighed. “Can we just—I can’t do this right now. Can we please just drop this? I-I can’t think about it anymore.”

          Mandy pursed her lips, hands on her hips and her gaze assessing. Eventually, she sighed.

          “Just…just promise me you’ll be careful, and that’s the last I’ll say about it. Ever. I promise.”

          “I promise too,” Ian said.

          “Good. Because when this all falls apart, I’m not gonna walk around after you picking up the pieces.”

          “You won’t _have_ to,” he assured her. “Listen, I’ve already talked it over with him. We’re gonna go at it for another month or two, then say we had a clean breakup, stayed friends—simple as that.”

          “Simple as that, huh?” she asked skeptically. “I mean, _okay_ , but…This isn’t just about you and Mickey, you know? I want you to be happy, Ian. And you can’t even get laid if you’re still shacked up with my brother, let alone move on.”

          Ian laughed, a little startled. “Get under someone new, huh? Interesting advice—I think that’s more your way to get over someone.”

          She smacked his arm. “It’s yours too, don’t act so high and mighty.”

          They were quiet then, each looking away. Ian looked up at the same time that Mandy did, and they exchanged tiny smiles when their gazes caught.

          “No matter what, I’m with you, Ian,” she said, small but sincere. “You’re my best friend and nothing’s gonna change that, no matter what stupid shit you get yourself into.”

          Ian reached out to catch her hand in his, and he swung them, entwined, over the space between their bodies.

          “You’re mine, too,” he promised. “Fuck it. You’re family.”

          He thought that making Mandy smile like that, however she offset it with an eye roll and a soft, “Shut up,” was the most important thing he would ever do. For a second, standing with her in the entrance hall, holding hands and smiling, he truly believed that everything would work itself out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [best friend by foster the people playing in the background]
> 
>  
> 
> [xoxo hmu](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/140146773485)


	14. ends of the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like that everything went back to normal. They were just Ian and Mickey, enjoying their time spent together. The way it had always been.  
> Ian thought, _I would do anything not to lose this_. Ian thought, _I would run myself to the ends of the earth to keep this much alive_.  
>  It suddenly seemed like a very, very tall order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: new rating is for masturbation lol

          When Ian woke up the next morning, he lay in his bed for a long time, staring up at the ceiling above him and thinking. A lot of it was the same mantra in his head, again and again and again: _What the fuck do you think you’re doing?_

          He had no idea what he was doing. He just knew that he didn’t want to stop.

          He dressed quickly, and was hustling his way down to the common room when he almost collided headlong into someone ascending the spiral staircase at the same time.

          “Oh shit!” he shouted, just as the other boy yelled, “Oh, _shit_ —” and Ian had about two seconds to register the other boy as Mickey before his arm was grabbed and they tumbled together down the stairs.

          Ian sat up when they landed tangled together, rubbing at his skull.

          “Can I go one day without having my head bashed open?” he groused.

          Mickey huffed and pushed himself up off his face. He glared at Ian.

          “Good morning,” he said, clearly annoyed.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Less of a good morning now,” he said.

          Mickey shoved him hard in the shoulder and struggled to his feet, but at the very least he had the decency to grab Ian’s hand when he stretched it out to him. Ian jumped up beside him and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

          “Boyfriend,” he said, tilting his head meaningfully towards him, then away towards the rest of the sparse common room.

          Mickey squeezed the hand he still had clasped in his with reproach.

          “How subtle of you,” he snorted. “Come get breakfast.”

          He tugged on Ian’s hand and of course Ian followed as they headed across the common room and out towards the hall.

          “So what are you doing here?” Ian asked as they crested the stairs into the entrance hall. He put on his most flirtatious smile and added, “You were just dying to see me that badly, huh? You couldn’t even wait an hour.”

          “In your dreams, asshole,” Mickey said. “I came to wake you the fuck up since you’ve only missed the first day of classes, oh, the past three semesters you’ve been here.”

          Ian reddened, but he shrugged anyway. “Whatever. You know you like to start your mornings off right.”

          Mickey twisted to stare at him. “Huh?”

          “By seeing me,” Ian elaborated, tossing him a look over his shoulder as he pulled ahead to lead them into the great hall, then as he tugged him over in the direction of his table.

          Mickey scoffed. “In your dreams, Gallagher. You’re the lucky one getting to see _me_ first thing in the morning.”

          Mickey tugged his hand away as they dropped into seats beside each other at the end of the table, far enough away that nobody could hear them if they spoke lowly, but close enough that Ian waved to a few of his housemates as they sat down, and they either waved or called hellos back. It was Ian’s favorite distance from everybody else; close enough to exchange pleasantries, but far enough to keep his private life private.

          “Oh, like that’s lucky,” said Ian. “The first thing you did was pull me down the stairs and wind up cracking my head for the third time this week.”

          “No blood this time, though,” Mickey pointed out, gesturing at Ian’s perfectly holding stitches with his fork. “Did I do a good job or what?”

          “Better than the Healers did apparently.” Ian was admittedly impressed as he probed at the sutures with his fingers, at least until Mickey batted his hand away from playing with them. “At least _your_ skull didn’t break open as soon as it got hit with a little pressure.”

          “Told you I could be a Healer,” said Mickey.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Mick, the day you actually want to be a Healer is the day I drop fucking dead.”

          Mickey tilted his head to either side, then at length said, “True. But I _could_ be.”

          “But you _want_ to deal drugs on the side,” said Ian. “Have you settled on a legitimate day job yet? Or do you still want to own a restaurant? I told you, the hours on that—”

          Mickey shrugged. “Changed my mind again,” he said. “Might own a bookshop now. Sell wizard stories to muggles and vice versa, you know. Grab the corner on that market.”

          Ian frowned thoughtfully. After a considerable pause, he said, “I could see that.”

          Mickey’s eyebrows jumped higher. “You could?”

          Ian laughed, but his hand was gentle where it found the back of Mickey’s shoulder and rubbed there, for just a second before he took it away and went back to eating.

          “Sure.” He shrugged. “You’re…convincing.”

          “You mean scary,” Mickey said, narrowing his eyes at him.

          “Well that too,” said Ian, “but no. I just mean…You’re good at changing people’s minds. I’m sure you could sell whatever you wanted.”

          Mickey stared at him for a couple of seconds, his fork suspended halfway to his mouth and his brows arched. Ian passed him a glance and returned to eating; after a few seconds of chewing, Mickey did too.

          “So how pissed would Longbottom be if I was late to Herbology first class of the semester?” asked Mickey then, and Ian knew that their sincere conversation was over.

          He shrugged. “Maybe less if you told him it was because you were dealing with other herbs on the side, and that’s why you were late.”

          He shouted a laugh as Mickey thwacked him on the arm, and just like that everything went back to normal. They were just Ian and Mickey, enjoying their time spent together. The way it had always been.

          Ian thought, _I would do anything not to lose this._ Ian thought, _I would run myself to the ends of the earth to keep this much alive._

          It suddenly seemed like a very, very tall order.

          Their breakfast together was interrupted by the arrival of Karen and Mandy, who were holding hands as they sat down together across the table from where Ian was sitting pressed to Mickey’s side. Mandy flicked her eyes between them—Ian saw her notice the lack of space between them, because her eyes narrowed—but she said nothing as she began gathering breakfast onto her plate.

          “So Mickey left to wake you up again this morning,” Mandy said, raising her eyes to Ian’s nonchalantly, but he could see the underlying sharpness of her gaze.

          “He ended up just pushing me down the stairs. And I woke up by myself.”

          “I did not push you down the stairs!” Mickey protested over Karen’s snort of laughter.

          “Oh, that’s true,” Ian said, nodding as he turned from him back to the girls.  
“Actually he _pulled_ me down the stairs, it was much different. This way we actually fell on top of each other? It was all very painful and awkward. Not a very good start to my morning, if you were wondering.”

          Mickey pinched him hard on the thigh, and Ian yelped and swatted at his wrist. Mickey snarled threateningly; Ian glared right back.

          “Don’t you just love when he wakes you up in the morning,” Karen sighed theatrically, covering her heart with her hand and looking dreamily into the distance.

          “ _So_ romantic,” Mandy agreed, nodding sanctimoniously.

          Then at once, the girls collapsed together in identical fits of laughter, and Mickey huffed as he watched them, crossing his arms over his chest.

          “I was trying to be nice,” he sneered, which only made them laugh harder.

          Ian squeezed his arm consolingly, pleased when Mickey didn’t pull away. Even though he knew it was radically pressing, he slipped his hand down and covered Mickey’s with it where it was laying on the table. Despite the snide look sent his way, Mickey flipped over his palm to slide it against Ian’s, and he pressed his fingers into the space between Ian’s.

          Ian squeezed his hand. “It’s the thought that counts,” he offered.

          “No it’s not,” said Mickey. “It’s the making us both fall down the stairs that counts, actually. I have a bruise on my _face_.”

          Ian jutted his lip out sympathetically and reached his free hand over to rub the pad of his thumb over the darkened spot on Mickey’s jaw, which, now that it was pointed out to him, he saw clearly where he hadn’t before. Mickey made a face and leaned his head away from his touch, and Ian dropped his hand immediately.

          “Sorry,” he said. “Does it hurt?”

          “Well, it doesn’t feel _good_ ,” Mickey groused. “I think I’ll live though.”

          Ian waggled his eyebrows, a grin blooming over his face. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” he offered.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. Across the table, the girls had stopped laughing, and Karen gave a loud noise of exaggerated disgust at the offer; Mandy kicked Ian’s shin beneath the table, hard.

          “I was joking!” he said, spreading the hand not still wrapped in Mickey’s out across the table in his plea. “Come on!”

          “That’s disgusting,” Karen insisted, letting her tongue loll out of her mouth. “Boys are so fucking nasty.” She turned to Mandy then and added, “Please bludgeon the shit out of me if I ever date a man again. Especially one who puts so much fucking cheese with his breakfast.”

          Mandy, wearing a similar expression of distaste, reached over to squeeze Karen on the wrist. “Me too,” she said.

          “Same for me,” said Mickey.

          They all turned to stare at him; Ian in horror, Mandy in light incredulity, Karen with confusion written in her pulled brow. After a moment of exchanging looks with all of them in turn, Mickey pulled his hand out from under Ian’s and knocked him softly under the chin with one knuckle. Before Ian could do more than let out a tiny sound of confusion, Mickey leaned over and kissed him soundly. His hand weaved into Ian’s hair and keep him pulled against him for a few extra seconds. Ian’s fingers clutched weakly at the front of Mickey’s robes. Mickey’s tousled through his hair, dragging his head around to fit their lips together better every time. His whole head felt light and dizzy, and he was sure he could feel the tip of Mickey’s tongue against his lip every time they pressed back for more even though the kiss as a whole was short.

          When they pulled away, Ian was breathless. Mickey only went a few inches from him and he grinned, wicked and self-satisfied.

          “Don’t know how I put up with your corny ass,” Mickey said.

          Mickey sat back in his seat and went about finishing his breakfast like nothing had happened; Ian blinked after him, his fingers felt numb where they had fallen away from Mickey’s robes and back onto his own lap. Mandy was watching them just a little too shrewdly, Ian could see from his peripheral vision; but Karen had just pulled a slight face and went back to eating, so at least Mickey’s diversion had effectively stifled the suspicion after his slip-up. Ian swallowed hard and went back to eating as well, trying to stave off any more doubts that might arise from his stunned expression.

          Beneath the table, Mickey’s hand lay across Ian’s thigh, steadfast and reassuring.

 

          Ian spent too much time jerking off nowadays.

          The water in the shower was too hot as it pounded down against his back, and he braced his arm against the wall, grunting as he curled further into himself. He felt dirty just contemplating it, but in his head he was replaying Mickey’s hand on his thigh earlier, he was thinking about Mickey’s tongue almost in his mouth that morning and the other time (Christmas beneath the fireworks, and in the great hall, and all the other places they had kissed that hadn’t almost been a makeout but that were still great in their own right—Ian could name every single time, like a mantra of _almost, almost, so close_ ), he was thinking about Mickey’s hands and his mouth and the way he groaned Ian’s name when he was annoyed with him in the early mornings. Ian thought that was the closest he would get to hearing his name, moaned low and guttural from Mickey’s lips.

          If he was being honest—and he wasn’t really ready to even do more than harbor the idle thought, because thinking about it too much made his skin crawl unpleasantly with guilty thoughts he didn’t want to have—he was imagining Mickey on his knees.

          The thing is, he was pretty sure Mickey would look really good on the dorm shower floor, face pressed between Ian’s legs and his hands feeling him up everywhere else he could reach, and Ian knew it was fucked up on a thousand different levels, but he was sixteen and Mickey was beautiful and he _wanted_.

          He ran his thumb over the head of his cock and stifled a moan into his free hand. Even if Mickey’s mouth would feel so much better, fantasies and his left hand wasn’t so bad. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his hand around himself properly again and tugged, and he was halfway between remembering Mickey’s hand on his leg again and imagining if he had just slid it up a couple of inches, preferably slowly and sensually and ending with a handjob, when there came a rough knock on the bathroom door.

          “Gallagher!” He sighed as he recognized one of his dormmate’s voice, but though his hand slowed on himself, he didn’t stop altogether. Somewhere in the back of his head he hadn’t let go of the fantasy of Mickey on his knees, and it was still working for him. “Get out of the fucking shower, you’ve been in there ten minutes already!”

          “Fuck off!” Ian called back. “I’m fucking busy!”

          “I have class too!”

          Ian just leaned his forehead back against his arm and said nothing more; after a couple of seconds he heard an aggravated groan come from outside the door and then footsteps stomping away. Ian gritted his teeth and got back down to it, but now that some of the magic was lost and it was just cold, harsh, lonely reality flooding back in, it felt more like a routine stress-relief than pining or fun anymore.

          That didn’t mean it didn’t feel good though; he didn’t stop, and after another couple of minutes he was close. His breathing had picked up a little, and his toes were curling against the shower floor. He sifted through some of his latest fantasies for inspiration, but barely got past the one where they had had sex on the blanket after Mickey’s Christmas gift to him instead of being interrupted when more banging came from the door outside the shower.

          “Gallagher!”

          It was a new voice, another of his roommates.

          “Alright!” Ian shouted. “I’ll be done in a goddamn minute! Could you give me a sec?”

          “You’ve had fifteen minutes!” His first roommate again; Nick. “Stop jerking off and let us use the fucking shower!”

          He knew they were just blindly giving him shit for taking up so much time, but their assumptions were still valid. Ian didn’t really care if they knew one way or another, but if he could avoid questions about his sudden upswing in morning jerkoff sessions he would rather go that route. He had a _boyfriend_ ; this was all supposed to be taken care of on the regular. They were supposed to be catching the both of them taking too-long showers, not just Ian.

          It didn’t help that Ian hadn’t been properly laid in _months_ , not since he and Mickey had drawn up their scheme. He could feel the lack of companionship in every inch of his bones (he was lying to himself if he thought it was that romantic—he just wanted his dick touched by somebody other than himself, _god_ ), and he was just barely staving off being hot all of the time now. Maybe Ian had gotten laid more than most people before, but that didn’t mean he was okay with being average now. He wanted and he wanted Mickey and it was all too much and not enough, all the time.

          Ian came quickly after his roommates left, but it was disappointing and not that great and left him feeling empty and still kind of horny, an overall feeling of discontent all around. Annoyed with the interruption, but also annoyed at himself, Ian toweled off faster than usual and stepped outside with the steam still fogging up the mirror.

          “About time,” Nick said scathingly, pushing past him into the bathroom. “Ain’t you got a boyfriend to take care of that for you?”

          “You’re right,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “It should be you in there for half an hour. No girl’s touched yours since third year.”

          He was met with a snarl, but time won out and Nick slammed the door instead of decking him one or prolonging the verbal sparring match. Ian was privately thankful; on top of not wanting to get into his nonexistent sex life, in part because he had no way to explain it and in part because he really didn’t want to think about it himself, he also didn’t need to be late to class because him and his dormmate got into a fight about who was having a rougher dry spell. Nobody would come out on top.

          Karen was in the great hall when Ian rushed down there ten minutes later. She snapped at him, but didn’t stop him, as he stole one of her pieces of toast already buttered and covered in jam and crammed half of it into his mouth at once.

          “You’re running late this morning,” Karen observed as he chugged a glass of orange juice. “Mickey didn’t stop by to wake you up?”

          “He probably won’t be doing that for awhile, considering how much shit I gave him about last time,” Ian lamented. “Fuck. Is my watch fast?”

          “No, and neither are you,” said Karen. “You’re gonna be late. But wait!” she shouted, as he sprang up beside her, and she grabbed his wrist to halt him, “Late five minutes or late fifteen, you’re still gonna be late. Sit down and have breakfast with me.”

          Ian paused. “Don’t you have class too?” he asked, and he could hear in how he said it, that he wanted her to convince him and not the other way around.

          “First period free,” Karen said smugly. Then, gentler as she tugged on him, “Come on, sit down. I have to tell you about last night.”

          Ian pulled his arm free from her grip, but he swung his legs over the bench and sat down beside her anyway.

          “Drama already?” he asked wryly. “You’re barely a few weeks into school. How have you already managed to stir up trouble?”

          “I don’t stir up trouble,” she snapped. “And this isn’t bad news! God, give me a break, Gallagher.”

          “Sorry, sorry,” he said, holding up his hands until her glare abated somewhat. “I’m sorry. Come on, tell me what happened. I want to know.”

          She leveled narrowed eyes at him for another long moment until, as she seemed to decide that he meant it, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and perked up entirely, all traces of animosity gone.

          “So, guess what?” she said, and before he could say anything, she went on, “Mandy asked me to go to Hogsmeade with her in a couple of weeks!”

          “That’s great!” Ian gasped. “Oh my god, Karen—I’m so happy for you.”

          “I know!” she said, blushing even as she grinned widely. She ducked her head down and took a shy sip of her pumpkin juice.

          “But I mean,” Ian said, watching her grin around her mouthful, “you can’t be that surprised. You had to see this coming. You two are like… _together_.”

          Karen shrugged, a tiny thing. “I’m just...I can’t believe it’s really happening, you know?” she said, sounding a little far off. “I’ve never had a girlfriend for Hogsmeade before or anything. I’ve never had a girlfriend before _at all_.”

          “But you’ve had dates for the village,” Ian pointed out. “And you’ve had like, boyfriends and stuff before too.”

          Karen shrugged again, heartier than before. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, moving her fork aimlessly around her plate so that it scraped a little on the ceramic. “It’s just different, I guess. Being with someone like Mandy and knowing they want to just...spend time like this. Being friends first. She just wants to _be_ with me, I know she really just _likes_ me for me. I don’t really know what to do with it.”

          Ian laughed a little. “You enjoy it,” he said, bumping his shoulder into hers. She looked up at him, smiling a little, and crookedly.

          “Yeah?”

          “Yeah!” Ian said.

          Karen looked down again, but it seemed less in avoidance than it had been previously, and Ian smiled slightly at her profile.

          Then she said, “Is this how you feel with Mickey all the time?”

          Ian swallowed hard. His brain scrambled. “Uh—I don’t know what you mean exactly. I mean, uhm—well, like, how do you feel?”

          “I’m not gonna get all sappy on you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just all…like there’s butterflies there all the time, but also like it was really, really meant to be like this. Like you can’t imagine anything else.”

          He thought about the way Mickey made him feel; he thought it felt something like that, when they were alone together, just him and Mickey and none of the rest of the constructed bullshit built up around them—the bullshit that they had made themselves. Ian thought it felt a little like how Karen was describing…a little like home. He thought of Mickey’s smile, the soft way he looked at him, the sardonic way of him and the affection that even Ian could see underneath it all. He thought of Mickey’s hand in his.

          Karen’s laughter shook him out of his thoughts.

          “Judging by your face, I’ll take that as a yes,” she snickered.

          Ian reddened. “What face?”

          She waved her fork in his general direction. “That dreamy, doe-eyed, _he stole my heart and now I’m a goner_ look!” She shook her head. “I see that look in the _mirror_ , motherfucker. You are gone.”

          He turned from her and stabbed roughly at his yogurt with his spoon, like it was it accusing him instead of Karen.

          “I don’t have a look,” he groused.

          “Hey, don’t get so defensive!” she protested. “You’re in love, and this time with someone you’re actually in a healthy, two-way relationship with. You’re allowed to get that sappy-ass look on your face. No more unrequited pining for us. You and I are happily not-free agents.”

          Ian sighed, and he tried to hitch a smile onto his face that didn’t look too tired. Karen, who after all was a master at seeing what she wanted to see, beamed back at him.

          “You’re right,” he conceded as they both went back to their breakfasts, “I’m a goner.”

 

\- - -

 

          “You’re doing it wrong,” Mickey sighed for the fourth time that afternoon.

          They were practicing spells in their closed-off classroom again, the desks pushed up against the walls and the windows open to let in the last of the day’s streaming sunlight. Despite it being only the beginning of February, it had been a mildly nice day outside. Ian had been all for practicing out in the good weather, but Mickey had threatened to hex anyone that saw him fucking up the Bubblehead Charm for the umpteenth time, and Ian had decided that, on the whole, it was better for them to practice inside in a closed-off space—for the safety of all the students in the school.

          He had also insisted that Ian go first.

          “Well, this looks like what you were doing!” Ian shouted.

          “Well, it’s not,” said Mickey, in a mockery of Ian’s voice.

          Ian’s jaw worked, but he planted his feet again nevertheless. Mickey nodded encouragingly. Ian knew his movements were getting more erratic and aggressive as his frustration climbed, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t calm down. He shook his wand through the air and shouted,

          “ _Inanimatus Conjurus_!”

          There was a flash from his wand, and the pillow on which Ian was attempting to conjure a small quill into existence caught fire.

          After they worked together to snuff it out with a mixture of stomping, punching, and (after several minutes of unsuccessful nonmagic attempts) the Aguamenti spell, they both breathed out heavily and turned to look at each other. Mickey looked impatient; Ian had lost all fight.

          “I’m fucked,” he said, after a long moment of staring at one another.

          “You’re not fucked,” Mickey sighed. “Just…Look, come on.”

          He crossed the room swiftly then, and Ian traipsed back with him to where he had been standing. He tensed instinctively as Mickey came closer to him.

          “Hey,” Mickey laughed, situating himself behind him and rotating him to face the pillow again when Ian turned to look at him instead, “Relax.”

          His hand fell lightly to Ian’s shoulder, which definitely did _not_ help him relax by any sense of the word. Ian took a deep breath and focused on forcibly unknotting his back. Mickey’s hand smoothed down lower, over his unwinding shoulder blades, and Ian’s breathing grew heavier as he worked actively to keep from tensing up again. Then Mickey touched his arms, his elbows, down to his wrist. His hand closed over the back of Ian’s, wrapping tight around his wand on top of Ian’s own grip.

          Ian glanced minutely over his shoulder, just enough that he caught Mickey’s eye.

          “Mick—” he breathed, but then Mickey’s gaze shifted from the intense stare they had been caught in, over his shoulder to the target on which Ian was supposed to be concentrating.

          “Just focus,” Mickey murmured, and Ian could hear how close he was to his back, could feel his body heat against Ian’s back and his breath on his neck and the way his hip just barely nudged Ian’s where his feet were nearly settled against the backs of Ian’s. His hand, on Ian’s, was warm.

          Ian gritted his teeth together. “I’m trying,” he grated.

          “Try harder.”

          Mickey’s voice was still soothing, calm, despite the relative insensitivity of his words. It made Ian’s lip curl; but Mickey was still touching him, and he tried to keep up the relaxed front he had put on. He pinpointed his focus to the spots where Mickey’s body was touching his—his hip, his hand, a spot on his back—and he was warm; he worked to let that heat become a means of relaxation, and he calmed.

          “Wave it like this,” Mickey said then, gently guiding Ian’s hand through the air in exactly the same manner Ian was pretty sure he had been doing all along.

          “I’ve been doing that.”

          Mickey just snorted. A second later the solidity of his body was gone as he stepped away, and Ian sighed and shuffled his feet, resettling into his position. When he turned his head to side he saw Mickey nodding encouragingly again.        Ian took a deep breath and then breathed out steadily, narrowing his eyes back at the pillow.

          “ _Inanimatus Conjurus_!”

          There was another flash of light, thin and reddish, and Ian squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure he could face screwing this up again. He heard Mickey’s breath hitch.

          “Don’t tell me,” Ian said, scrunching up his face even further.

          Mickey’s hand fluttered close to his shoulder; he felt it brushing his shirt, the material rubbing against his skin. Then that hand closed down over his shoulder and shook him. Ian thought it was bracing.

          “You can look,” Mickey said, “but I’m not really sure what it is.”

          Ian tilted his head to the side, face relaxing, eyes still closed.

          “You’re not sure what it _is_?” he repeated. “What did I make, a fucking alien?”

          “No.” Mickey snorted, and his hand disappeared only to shove Ian in the back. “Open your eyes, man.”

          Ian did, slowly, one at a time as though that would change the outcome of what he would see. For a second, when his eyes focused, he was confused. Then he burst out laughing.

          “It’s not a quill,” Mickey said, sounding confused.

          “No it’s not,” Ian agreed. “It’s a _pen_. How did I fuck that up? What the fuck?”

          Mickey was laughing. “You were close,” he offered.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Fuck this.”

          “Oh, man.” He had to pause to scoff to himself. “Do you want to go again?”

          “No, I don’t want to go again,” Ian said sourly. “What will this get me on OWLs? An Acceptable?”

          “Well, they can’t fail you for it,” Mickey said, “but it’s definitely not an E.”

          Ian shook his head, then shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll take it,” he sighed. “Do you want to try practicing the Bubblehead Charm now?”

          Mickey scoffed. “No. But I’ll do it anyway.”

          Ian smirked at him and moved to the other side of the room, swapping places with where Mickey had been earlier. He kicked the pillow, and the pen on top of it, out of the way and dragged out the mirror that they had brought up a couple of months previous, when Ian had been practicing color-changing charms on his own eyebrows. He tugged it over until it, and himself, were standing in front of Mickey, and then he crossed his arms. He jerked his chin towards it.

          “Go on,” he said to Mickey. “Your turn to make a fucking idiot out of yourself.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes but got situated. Ian’s gaze traced over his face as he squinted at himself in the mirror, but where Mickey’s eyes were fixed more on the air _around_ his head—his wand pointed at his temple, his observation determined—Ian’s slid instead over the planes of his face, how the softness of his jaw contrasted with the hard set of his eyes and mouth, how his forehead wrinkled in his concentration. Ian felt the corners of his lips tick upwards and did nothing whatsoever to stop it.

          “Go on,” he said again, softer.

          Mickey was not looking at him still; Ian shifted slightly, turned, until he was watching Mickey’s reflection in the mirror stood beside him as well. He saw Mickey’s eyes shift to him, just slightly, and then it was gone.

          Mickey messed up the charm. Three times.

          “It’s pointless,” he said, throwing his wand down angrily to the floor. It clattered and rolled away beneath one of the desks pushed against the right-side wall.

          Ian grimaced. “It’s not _pointless_ ,” he said, but he was hedging. “You just need…to practice some more.”

          Mickey seemed unimpressed with the lame end to his advice; Ian hated it a little himself.

          “I just mean,” he tried again, “that I know you can do this. Okay?”

          “Why am I practicing with you anyway?” Mickey said sourly, kicking at a random spot on the floor. “You’re a fifth year, you can’t help me with any of this stuff.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m all you have,” he pointed out, a bit more snippily than he had intended. Then he sighed, softened. “Just try it one more time, alright?”

          Mickey crossed his arms. The way his chin jutted out when his teeth set, Ian thought he looked like a petulant child.

          He wanted to roll his eyes. _I can’t believe I’m in love with this_.

          “No,” Mickey said insistently. “I almost choked on bubbles that last time, I thought you were gonna run to Pomfrey.”

          “I’m sure you would throw yourself out the window before you let her heal you for something that stupid,” Ian scoffed. “I wouldn’t.”

          “Well, whatever,” Mickey sniffed. “You’re overprotective.”

          “And you’re an asshole,” Ian said levelly.

          Mickey shrugged. “Probably. Can we get lunch or something? I haven’t eaten since eight.”

          Ian hesitated. He was torn between his rumbling stomach and acquiescing to Mickey’s whims, or being the good study partner he had been recruited to be and making him stay here until he got it right. Or at least until he improved a little bit. Then, as Mickey’s patience wore thin and he made a “Tchh!” sound and spun around to go stomp off in search of his wand, Ian came to a decision.

          “Alright!” he said, throwing himself to the ground beside Mickey so he could help him grope around for his wand, “Let’s eat. I’m starving too.”

          Mickey really did have a nice smile.

 

          The great hall was sparse when they went in, probably because they were about two hours off of rush time for lunch. They threw themselves down at the Hufflepuff table and each started correcting the sandwiches they had pulled onto their plates, stuffing them with whatever was in their immediate vicinity. About five minutes into this Mickey announced that he had to use the bathroom, and Ian assured him—after several hard glances, because Mickey was more protective over his food than he was over nearly anything else—that he would save both his sandwich and his seat. Eventually, Mickey decided he believed him, and with a raised middle finger and a promise to be right back, he hurried off to the closest bathroom, which Ian was pretty sure was on the second floor. Maybe not; the castle tended to do whatever it wanted.

          He had only been gone less than a minute when Ian finished improving his sandwich and took a sizable bite. At about that same moment, someone sat down a couple seats away on the side Mickey hadn’t been occupying, froze, looked at him, and leaned over.

          “You’re not a Hufflepuff,” he observed.

          Ian turned to look at him, ridiculously-sized sandwich still in hand, mouth full, and lettuce falling out of his mouth. Without swallowing fully, he said, “Yeah?”

          The guy squinted at him. Ian vaguely recognized him as someone a year or so below Mickey, so probably a sixth year because Ian didn’t recognize him from class; he had seen him around the Hufflepuff common room every now and then, just in passing, sometimes when he hung out with Mickey or Mandy there. He thought his name might be something like Shawn, or Sullivan. _Sully_ , his brain supplied.

          “Yeah you are or yeah you’re not?” he asked testily.

          There was really no reason for fighting, but something about the guy’s tone got Ian’s hackles up anyway.

          “Yeah, I’m not,” he said, more cuttingly than really necessary, except the guy looked a little taken aback by his bite so Ian felt vindicated anyway. “The fuck does it matter to you?”

          Maybe-Shawn-maybe-Sully shrugged all nonchalantly, but Ian could tell something was off about it.

          “Just wondering,” he said. “I see you hanging around Mickey all the time.”

          “So?”

          He held his hands up then. “I’m not trying to fight,” he said. “I was just wondering. “He’s cool, you know?”

          “Yeah, I know,” Ian said shortly. “Look, what do you want, man? Do you have a crush on him or something?”

          “Me?” Sully laughed. “Oh my god, no. Do I look like I have a death wish?”

          “What’s that supposed to mean?”

          “Oh my god, I’m—” He looked around like he was seeking help. Ian resisted the urge to bare his teeth like an actual rabid animal. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, I _swear_.”

          “You sure sounded like you were,” Ian said testily, narrowing his eyes. “Why are you asking all these questions, anyway?”

          “I was just curious,” he said, shrugging. “Sorry. I know I come off as hostile sometimes.”

          He laughed a little here, and against his better judgment, Ian felt himself thaw just a little bit.

          “We’re straight,” Ian said carefully, eyes still glued to him just in case he flipped the switch and went vicious again. “Sorry, you just…got my guard up a little there.”

          “I do that,” he said cheerfully. He thrust his hand out towards Ian and added, “I’m Sully.”

          Ian eyed his outstretched hand for a second before he shook it and said, “I’m Ian.”

          “I know, I’ve heard Mickey and Mandy talk about you,” he said.

          Ian blinked. “What do they say?”

          Sully shrugged. He scooted a little closer and starting digging into the soup in front of him with more vigor than Ian thought possible, and around his mouthful he said, “Mandy thinks you’re kind of a twat, but she likes you. Mickey acts like you’re a pain in his ass but I think he thinks the sun shines out your ass or something.”

          The shock of that descriptor, from someone he didn’t really know at all, had Ian laughing so quickly that it devolved into a violent cough. He hunched over, nose nearly in his sandwich, and felt Sully pounding on his back.

          “Jesus, man,” he said, chuckling. “I take it those are an accurate summary of you?”

          “Pretty accurate, yeah,” Ian said, still coughing, but less so. Sully’s hand disappeared. Then he shook his head. “My friends are assholes.”

          “They seem it,” said Sully, but he didn’t sound judgmental, especially since right after that he added, “I always liked them. I mean, I don’t _know_ them, but they seemed cool. I don’t want to like, stereotype my own House, but we can be kind of…”

          He trailed off. Ian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

          “I get it,” he assured him. “Mickey and Mandy are…different.”

          “Very different,” he agreed. “In a good way, though. And from the way they talk about you, so are you.”

          Ian paused, not sure what to do with that for a moment. Then, as Sully grinned at him, wide and easy and so _open_ that there was no room for deceit, Ian smiled back.

          “Thanks, man,” he said at length. “You’re alright. I don’t know why they haven’t been hanging around with you more.”

          Sully shrugged. “I’m in the year right between them. Doesn’t leave much room for mingling.”

          Ian cocked his head. “True.” He paused, considering Sully, who was looking right back at him with the same dopey smile on his face. Then he said, “You should come hang out with us tomorrow afternoon. If you want. Me and Mandy are gonna go get some homework done on the lawns, you should come.”

          Sully hesitated, eyes getting a little bit wider. Ian couldn’t help grinning.

          “That would be cool!” said Sully. “Yeah, okay.”

          “Awesome. Meet us after class—you know that wiggentree out by the lake?”

          Sully thought it over for a minute, then nodded slowly.

          “Sure. Next to the red one with all the branches?”

          “Yeah, that one. We’re meeting up there around four. Swing by if you want.”

          “Cool,” Sully said again. “Sounds fun.”

          “If homework can be fun, sure,” Ian laughed.

          They grinned at each other for another few seconds before digging back into their lunches in companionable silence. Ian decided, quite abruptly really, that he liked Sully a lot. He was honest and open and almost innocent in a way like a little kid or a golden retriever, except he also reeked of pot and it was only two in the afternoon, and Ian had seen him swinging bottles around with some friends when he stayed late at the Hufflepuff dorms. Still, anyone that classified hanging out as fun even if they were just doing homework was already alright in Ian’s books. Especially if when said about with a couple of bent-out-of-shape assholes, which was basically an accurate descriptor of everyone Ian knew. Including himself.

          They only sat together in silence for about a minute before Sully leaned over and said, “So what do you—” and the rest of his sentence was drowned out by Mickey sitting down heavily back in his seat, leaning across Ian, baring a snarl, and saying, “Who the fuck are you?”

          Sully beamed; there were bits of food in his teeth, but somehow it added to his overall childlike charm. Ian thought it was a small blessing that at least he didn’t stick out his hand this time.

          “Simon Sullivan,” he said. “Everyone calls me Sully, though.”

          “Well, Everyone Calls Me Sully Though,” Mickey said scathingly, “why the fuck are you here?”

          Ian leaned over and whispered, “He’s a year below you, Mick,” but all that did was make Mickey turn his furious eyebrows on Ian instead.

          “Yes, I know he’s a year below me. I’m not an idiot.”

          “Just helping out,” Ian said, leaning away again. Best not to intervene, then.

          “We’re cool, man,” Sully said evenly, and Ian was admittedly impressed by his composure around Mickey’s best blustery irritation. Most people were terrified by it, but Sully was still smiling. “Me and Ian are tight now.”

          Mickey looked at him, one of his eyebrows drawing down into a furrow. Ian shrugged.

          “We’re tight,” he said.

          Mickey snorted. Possibly because he, too, recognized how ridiculous the word sounded out of Ian’s mouth. He looked at Sully, then at Ian, then back at Sully again. Finally he just shrugged and picked up his sandwich, and without saying anything else, dug into it. Ian watched him for a second before turning back to where Sully was staring between them, hesitant and unsure.

          “He doesn’t like meeting new people,” Ian confided. Mickey could probably hear him, but he gave no indication of it, and Ian didn’t bother doing much to stop it.

          “Oh,” said Sully. “So what’s he thinking?”

          Ian offered a tiny smile, just a small thing, only one corner of his mouth crooking up. But he said, “Don’t worry…I think you’re in. And when you’re in, you’re in.”

          Sully, looking confused but mollified, went back to eating his lunch. Ian watched him for a couple of seconds.

          “Poor kid,” Mickey murmured from his other side. “He has no idea what being in the circle is like at all.”

          “I know.” Ian grinned. “He’s gonna love it.”

 

\- - -

 

          The lawns were filled up with people late the next day; kids kicking around balls that had been enchanted to fly or disappear or veer suddenly to another player, couples eating picnic lunches, friends strolling together, and even a few teachers dotted the grass here and there doing much the same thing. It was so nice that people weren’t even being really apprehended for rule breaking, and Ian was sure that the Astronomy professor had seen those third years setting the bugs on fire around the side of the castle.

          He was sprawled out beneath the wiggentree with Mandy and an armful of books apiece, having significantly less fun than everybody else seemed to be having. Her hair was frizzy from running her hands through it constantly. Ian couldn’t stop bouncing his leg, restless energy thrumming through him even though they had only been at it an hour.

          “Isn’t your friend coming?” Mandy sighed after awhile. She slanted him a glance, then a sly smile. “I’m bored.”

          “He’s in your House,” Ian said absently, ignoring her lioness act completely. He still poked her with the end of his quill though, and said, “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

          Mandy stuck out her tongue. “Just because I’m not eating doesn’t mean I can’t play with my food. Me and Karen do it all the time. It’s fun.”

          Ian just rolled his eyes. “He’s just here to study, and he already thinks you’re cool. So you can tone it down, Nala.”

          “Who?”

          Ian glanced at her, but ultimately chose to simply shake his head. “Never mind. Just don’t terrorize him, okay?”

          “Is he…like… _innocent_ or something? Or like, sensitive?”

          “You say those like they’re dirty words,” Ian laughed. “And no, I don’t think I could be around someone like that. He’s just…he’s like a puppy. But a puppy who likes getting fucked up a lot. You’ll get it when you see him.”

          Mandy shrugged, but Ian could tell she was pouting a little. She went back to her homework.

          “Whatever.”

          Ian smirked at her and went back to his own work. God, he loved her a lot.

          He had gotten through three or four more inches on the essay he was writing when a bag dropped down onto the grass next to his head, and after that, a body threw itself hard down beside him as well. Sully grinned when Ian turned towards him.

          “Sup, Ian?”

          “How’s it going, man?” Ian returned. Then he jerked his chin at Mandy, who was watching Sully from Ian’s other side. “You know Mandy, right?”

          “Sure,” he said. “I—”

          “I know you,” Mandy said, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You’re a year above me, I’ve seen you around before. You deal overpriced pot to the younger kids. Totally undermines my family’s business.”

          Sully’s brows drew together. He opened his mouth a couple of times before he managed, “I didn’t—”

          Mandy, again, cut him off. “It’s awesome, dude.”

          Sully still seemed confused, but he said, “Yeah…thanks.”

          “We don’t sell to kids that young anyway,” said Mandy. “They’re more of a risk about snitching. We think it’s hilarious, though.”

          “I sell it cut with sage leaves half the time anyway,” Sully snorted. Ian could see the way he started to loosen up already. “The centaurs use it to stargaze, but it’s total shit to wizards. The kids go wild though, who knows why. Probably just for show, to seem all cool to the older years.”

          “Placebo effect,” said Mandy, laughing. “Oh shit, that’s awesome.”

          “Right?”

          “Oh, wow. You know what? You’re alright, Sully.” She grinned. “Who knows, we may decide to keep you after all.”

          “Mickey cleared him too,” Ian piped up.

          Sully pulled a face. “Technically he just ignored me,” he pointed out.

          “If he didn’t hit you, that’s a win,” Mandy assured him. “Trust me. He’s cleared you.”

          Sully shook his head. “You guys are wild,” he said, but didn’t sound condemnatory—he sounded pleased.

          Ian nudged Mandy. “Looks like we passed his tests, too.”

          She giggled, and Sully did too. Ian was grinning. When they settled after a bit, they shared glances, and then went back to work.

          Ian was putting the finishing touches on his conclusion when his bag, nudging his ankle where he had thrown it behind him when he laid down, grew warm.

          “Oh, Mickey’s calling,” he said, scrambling up to get it.

          He saw Sully and Mandy glance at each other as he pulled his bag open and dug the Protean Mirror out from beneath his books and papers. They didn’t use it much, but Ian still kept it with him just in case.

          “Woah,” said Sully as Ian pulled it out and tapped the glass with his wand so that Mickey’s face appeared in it, “what is this?”

          His fingers feathered around the edge of it, almost reverent in his admiration. Ian grinned.

          “It’s a Protean Mirror,” he explained. “Basically it lets us talk to each other wherever we are.”

          “Yeah, and I’m in detention,” Mickey interrupted, “So can you go through the basics with the puppy later?”

          “Sorry,” Ian said blithely. Sully rolled his eyes and laid back down to get back to his work, and Ian shuffled around, crossing his legs together and getting settled. “What’s up?”

          “Nothing urgent,” Mickey said. He rubbed at his nose. “Just remembered that Hogsmeade weekend is in a couple of weeks, wanted to make sure we were square on it.”

          Ian glanced at Sully, who glanced back with mild interest, then at Mandy, who was watching him with her eyebrows raised in warning. Ian’s gaze lingered on her for a split second too long before he dragged it back to Mickey’s reflection.

          “Uh…yeah, I mean,” he cleared his throat, “I didn’t think we had to talk about it. What’s there to talk about?”

          “Just wanted to make sure you knew I was okay with going,” Mickey said. He sounded uncomfortable all of a sudden.

          “Oh.” He felt a little stupid; Mickey didn’t really do dates. He probably should have asked if he wanted to go to the village on Valentine’s Day at all. “Do you…I mean, do you want to?”

          “You’re my boyfriend. Of course we’re going that weekend.”

          Mickey sounded almost offended now; Ian really didn’t know what he was supposed to do, because he didn’t know where he was going wrong, just that he seemed to be saying everything to piss Mickey off. It didn’t help that he was already on edge from being in detention.

          “Uh…okay,” Ian said. He thought about asking more, but decided he didn’t need any more of Mickey’s ire, and changed his mind. “Do you wanna come down and hang out with us after your detention lets out? We’re by the usual tree. The lake’s cold but the weather’s nice.”

          “Don’t know. Maybe,” said Mickey. “I think I have to stay late and finish scrubbing off _all_ the graffiti, not just mine. But I’ll see you guys at dinner anyway.”

          “Okay,” said Ian. “See you later then.”

          “Bye.”

          Ian stuffed the Mirror back into his bag and resumed his position on his stomach, picking up his quill once more. He didn’t immediately notice that Sully was staring at him, until he said, “ _Dude_.”

          Ian looked up. “What?”

          “You guys are dating?” he asked. “I thought you were just close.”

          “Is there a problem?” Mandy piped up. She was glaring at Sully hard, all of her earlier acceptance gone.

          “No! No. I’m just surprised,” said Sully. “He’s kind of…well, you know.”

          “We know,” Mandy snapped. “You sure that’s it? Because if you have something to say—”

          “I don’t!” said Sully. “Seriously. I’m…I mean, like. Me too.”

          Ian glanced at Mandy, needing a second opinion on that to check if his judgement was off, but she was blinking at him too. Ian turned back to Sully.

          “You’re gay?” he asked.

          “Bisexual,” he corrected. “I have a girlfriend now, have had one for two years, but…I mean, I get it, you know? The attraction to dudes, like…I’m there.”

          “Oh.”

          “Is that…”

          Sully’s question trailed off.

          “My girlfriend’s the same way,” Mandy offered. “And I’m—well, I don’t know. I like boys, but I have a girlfriend, so…I guess I’m something too.”

          Sully grinned. “Cool.”

          Then they were quiet again, and it was alright. Ian felt comfortable; he rarely met people he felt comfortable around so easily. He was basking in it for ten or so minutes before Sully said,

          “So, Ian, you and Mickey are planning a Valentine’s Day date? That’s gotta be romantic as hell. What are you thinking?”

          “Yeah, Ian,” Mandy said, and her voice was hard again all at once. “What _are_ you thinking?”

          He stopped just long enough to throw her a scathing glance before he turned back to Sully. He shrugged.

          “Something simple, probably. Mickey doesn’t do fanfare very well. I’ll probably just get us some wine and we’ll walk through the village or something, probably cut out early to get back to the castle.”

          “Oh yeah?” said Sully, waggling his eyebrows at him.

          Ian stifled a laugh. He wanted to deny it, but didn’t know how to get around it, so he just said, “Maybe, yeah.”

          “Sounds nice,” said Sully. “He’s a lucky guy.”

          “I’m the lucky one,” said Ian, shaking his head. “I mean, stuff like this is really little to do for him. He’s…he helps me a lot, you know? He’s good for me.”

          “You love him?” asked Sully.

          Ian didn’t have an answer for that. Well, he did, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it—especially not with Mandy around. Eventually he settled on,

          “I’m…it’s complicated. It’s not something we really say to each other, you know? But I mean, we both get the way things are.”

          Sully dipped his head in a slow nod. “That’s cool, bro. Everyone does things their own way. If it works for you, it works.”

          “We have our own way of doing things,” Ian allowed. “It’s not perfect, but I mean…I’m happy.”

          Sully moved on right after to ask Mandy about her plans for Valentine’s Day. Mandy spent a good five minutes talking about what she wanted to do with Karen down in the village, but Ian wasn’t watching her. He was focusing solely on his work. Still, even though it was her and Sully’s conversation, he could feel her eyes on him for a long time.

          Ian swallowed thickly. More than anything, he hoped—he could only hope—that he was doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's me, comin in clutch with the chapter nearly a month later
> 
>  
> 
> [hmu betches](http://bkinney.tumblr.com/post/141033769830)


	15. hogsmeade village: part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian used to love Valentine’s Day. He had a thing about having his hand held, which was that it made him feel loved in an easy way, and he had a thing about romance, which was that it made him feel like he was worth the time and effort put into the romance.
> 
> Ian had had Valentine’s dates to Hogsmeade since he’d been allowed down to the village third year, and even though he hadn’t really liked any of those guys, it had been nice to have someone with whom to buy inexpensive drinks from the Hog’s Head and then sneak it into Puddifoot’s and spike their coffees. Those boys hadn’t been very interesting, either, but just some pleasant conversation was nice. The ensuing sex in the alley behind Puddifoot’s had been nice too, even though they were young and it wasn’t very good, but it was hands on him and someone decent-looking telling him how pretty he was (how pretty he looked on his knees, same thing) so Ian had liked it alright. He always got off, anyway.
> 
> He didn’t like Valentine’s Day very much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, you're not hallucinating. i'm back and better than ever! okay, that might a lie. i'm back, anyway. more importantly, i'm back with a long stretch of summer ahead of me, my professional writing obligations behind me, and nothing to do for a whole month but write fic and think about how maybe i'll finish a multichap for the first time EVER! *jazzhands*
> 
> SO. without further ado...chapter 15! (remember when this fic's timeline used to fit the real world's? amazing. artistic license abounds)
> 
> PS did you know i've been waiting to get to this chapter since like, i STARTED? goddamn.
> 
> xoxox

          Ian used to love Valentine’s Day. He had a thing about having his hand held, which was that it made him feel loved in an easy way, and he had a thing about romance, which was that it made him feel like he was worth the time and effort put into the romance.

          Ian had had Valentine’s dates to Hogsmeade since he’d been allowed down to the village third year, and even though he hadn’t really _liked_ any of those guys, it had been nice to have someone with whom to buy inexpensive drinks from the Hog’s Head and then sneak it into Puddifoot’s and spike their coffees. Those boys hadn’t been very interesting, either, but just some pleasant conversation was nice. The ensuing sex in the alley behind Puddifoot’s had been nice too, even though they were young and it wasn’t very good, but it was hands on him and someone decent-looking telling him how pretty he was (how pretty he looked on his knees, _same thing_ ) so Ian had liked it alright. He always got off, anyway.

          He didn’t like Valentine’s Day very much anymore.

          The red and pink streamers in the great hall were swaying with a nonexistent breeze, and Ian thought they were taunting him; so, too, were the heart-shaped cookies after lunch and the fact that there were more owls than usual flying over his head, delivering notes to students from long-distance lovers. It was as though everyone had scrambled to find a date, and now Hogwarts seemed to be nothing _but_ couples—couples holding hands, couples kissing, couples feeding each other their lunch. Ian wanted to hack up what he’d eaten.

          He was saved, momentarily at least, by the arrival of Sully, although he was pulling a girl along by the hand and laughing when he sat down across from Ian.

          “Hey, man,” he greeted, then laughed again when his girl whispered something to him and nuzzled her nose against his cheek. Ian scowled. “This is, uh—I’ve told you about my girlfriend Savannah, right?”

          “Hi,” she said, smiling warmly at him now, “You must be Ian.”

          “That’s me,” he said, trying and failing not to sound too grumpy at the romantic intrusion into his peaceful commiseration meal. He cleared his throat and said, sweeter, “It’s good to meet you, Savannah.”

          “You too.”

          Everything about her was bright and warm and Ian wanted desperately to hate her, but he didn’t seem to have it in him no matter how hard he tried. She was, to his mind, the embodiment of the fact that all his friends were coupled up except for him—but she was nice and Ian couldn’t find it in him to direct all his Valentine’s Day antagonism towards her. Ten minutes later, she was just as bright and cheery as when she had sat down, telling Ian a dumb story about something Sully had said to her earlier while her boyfriend blushed bright red and Ian laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

          “Where’s Mickey?” Sully asked in the lull of her story, face determined as he steered them away from the subject of making fun of him before Ian could lob an anecdote back at her. He was looking around like he might find him sitting a few tables away or something. “And Mandy or Karen? Are you just sitting at our table alone?”

          “I was hoping someone would come by and save me from that,” Ian admitted, cracking a reluctant grin. “And I was hoping you would know where the others were, too. I haven’t seen them all morning.”

          “Don’t you have a standing breakfast arrangement with Mandy?”

          Ian just shrugged. “Must be caught up in Valentine’s plans already,” he said, failing again to keep the acidity out of his voice. He cleared his throat. “I’m meeting Mickey at one to go down to the village together. You guys want to come?”

          “Sure,” said Savannah, without looking at Sully. “We’d love to walk down with you guys!”

          Ian found himself smiling at her. Damn it, he really liked Savannah already.

          “Cool. We’ll meet you in the entrance hall then.” He stood up. “I gotta go get dressed and stuff, but uh…I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

          “See you,” said Sully.

          “Good to meet you, Ian!” called Savannah.

          The shower was occupied when Ian went down his dormitory, but he was still dressed faster than the roommate that got out of it before him. Maybe he just didn’t need to impress anybody this year, but Ian found himself just throwing on whatever robes he saw first when he got out of his shower. They were plain school robes, nothing fancy, and he barely brushed a hand through his hair in the mirror before heading for the door.

          “That’s all you’re doing for your date?” asked a voice behind him, and Ian paused and turned around.

          He stared at his roommate with his eyebrows raised.

          “So?” he asked. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Maybe he wasn’t playing this right.

          “Nothing,” the other said. “I’ve seen you fidget for two hours before study dates before, but now you’re just up and ready to go. Guess it’s just Mickey, though, right?”

          Ian laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess we’ve known each other too long,” Ian said. He coughed. “Uhm, I gotta…Well. Have fun at the village anyway.”

          “Might see you around,” his roommate said. He waved.

          Ian threw up a hand as he backed out of the room. Christ. He couldn’t even get _dressed_ and not be suspicious as hell about it. Cursing at himself, Ian jogged down to the common room and then out into the hallway.

          The Hufflepuff common room was buzzing when he climbed inside, way more than the Slytherin dorms had been. He wasn’t all that surprised; Milkoviches aside, the Hufflepuffs were far less apathetic than his housemates, just in general. Ian cast smiles at a few happily chattering third and fourth years as he headed towards the window by the girls’ staircase to wait for either Mickey or Mandy to come down to the common room. He was only standing there for a couple of minutes when he felt somebody lean against the wall beside him. He turned around, sighing.

          “That excited to see me, huh?” said Mandy.

          Ian perked up and threw an arm around her shoulder to pull her in close to him.

          “Hey!” he said. “I didn’t realize it was you. Thought maybe it was somebody starting shit.”

          Mandy held a hand over her heart with the arm not still anchored around Ian’s waist.

          “A Gallagher?” she said in a tone that had Ian rolling his eyes before she even finished, “Making enemies? Tell me that’s not true!”

          “Alright, alright.”

          Mandy grinned. She pulled away from their semi-hug and leaned against the wall with him, copying his posture in what he assumed might be a mocking gesture, but which might also have just been a comfortable position for her to stand.

          “So,” she said, eying with him now with a bit more purpose than he would have liked; he was not sure he was quite prepared for what Mandy had to say to him, because lately all she seemed to be doing was giving him lectures about what the hell he thought he was doing, and could he be any more of an idiot?

          As such, his tone came out a little wearier than he initially intended when he said, “Yes?”

          “Oh, relax,” said Mandy, swatting at his arm. “I’m not here to lecture you again, you can drop the weary-at-the-world act.”

          “How do you know it’s an act?” Ian said indignantly. He did, however, uncross his arms and turn to face her a little more openly.

          “Please, Ian Gallagher.” She snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You’re like a poster child for optimism to the point of stupidity.”

          “There it is,” he sighed.

          “Not a lecture,” she repeated with her hands up.

          “So you just came to bother me for the sport then?” he asked. He turned to grin at her though.

          Mandy bared all of her teeth when she smiled this time, a feral thing. She said, “Yes,” like she was a wild animal whose prey had caught on to her tracking but couldn’t do anything about it.

          As it was, Ian just laughed. “You don’t scare me.”

          “Your survival instincts were always fucking abysmal.”

          Then, as they took turns grinning and elbowing each other in the ribs, they were interrupted by footsteps coming down the stairs. They were this clunky, swaggered kind of step, which Ian recognized immediately. He heard Mandy snort beside him as he perked up and turned towards the sound.

          “What are you two dipshits cackling about?” Mickey asked as he ambled into view.

          “How dumb your fucking face looks today,” Mandy hurled back, but it was she who stepped up to give him a hug first, and Ian who was left waving feebly in the background.

          “Hey Mick,” he said, almost shyly.

          Ian could see the way he’d tried without looking like he tried: the gelled hair carefully tousled like bedhead; his freshly-showered face offset by the dirt he hadn’t scrubbed from under his nails; how his robes were cleaned but done up messily and worn deliberately askew. Ian knew these signs in him now, and smiled as he recognized each one of them. Mickey was a creature of deliberateness and casualness and carefully-affected apathy mixed with real indifference; it’s what made him so interesting, once one noticed that there was something beneath the murky surface. It was the beginning piece of why Ian loved him.

          Mickey tilted his chin at him minutely and said, “Hey Snow White. Saved any dwarves from dying in a mine today?”

          “That’s not what Snow White did and you know it,” Mandy scoffed. “Besides, Ian’s obviously Cinderella.”

          She linked her arm through Mickey’s and they all began to walk out of the common room. As they began to mount the stairs for the entrance hall and towards the exit to the grounds, Mickey said, “Hey, don’t we gotta go collect Queen Bitch first?”

          “Karen’s meeting us there,” Mandy said, waving her free hand airily. “Well, _I’m_ meeting Karen there, while you two go do whatever it is you do when left to your own idiotic devices.”

          “Hey,” Ian protested.

          Mandy patted his head and said in an overly-sugary voice, “Not you. I think you’re very smart,” and she and Mickey laughed like a pair of hyenas while Ian crossed his arms and pouted, only saved the drama of maintaining it when Mickey extricated his arm from Mandy’s and tousled his hair. He rolled his eyes at Mickey. Before any of them could continue ribbing each other though, somebody skipped up behind them.

          “Did someone order a triple date?”

          “Hey Sully,” they all said in varying degrees of enthusiasm.

          “Thanks for waiting for us,” Sully scoffed, but he didn’t seem too aggrieved.

          “Hey, you found us,” Mickey pointed out. “Technically we’re still on the grounds.”

          “You said the entrance hall,” Sully pointed out to Ian.

          Ian shrugged. “I lied.”

          Sully smacked upside the head, and they all started laughing again. Savannah introduced herself to Mickey and Mandy in the lull of conversation that followed.

          They all chatted idly as they headed down to the village; to Ian’s relief, the other two seemed to share his approval of Savannah. At the very least Mickey wasn’t being openly hostile, which was a plus, and Mandy had said they could come have coffee with her and Karen before they all split up for the afternoon, which Ian also recognized as a sign of approval. Sully, not yet nuanced in the subtle art of reading a Milkovich, relaxed minutely when Ian gave him a silent thumbs up behind their backs.

          The village spilled open before them like a picture coming to life before them. The streets were packed. Ian liked it this way, with people milling all about the street, coming in and out of shops. It all gave a certain sense that the village itself was alive, thrumming with a certain kind of heartbeat, an adventure for the taking.

          Mickey stopped just as they got onto main street, effectively dragging the rest of their party to a halt with him. They all turned to look at him. He looked at Ian. His hand had found its usual home on the back of his neck.

          “When did you wanna split up?” he asked, jerking his thumb in a random direction.

          Ian paused. The others all looked at him now. He felt like there was a right answer here, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Mickey certainly wasn’t being forthcoming on hints.

          “We could go get coffee with them,” he said, although it sounded like a question once it had come out of his mouth. “Then maybe go off and walk around the village alone for awhile.”

          Sully and Savannah both immediately clapped their hands over their mouths and made very childish _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s, but Mickey didn’t say anything. After a few seconds, he gave a small jerk of his shoulders and said, “Yeah, okay.”

          Ian wasn’t really sure if he’d passed the test.

          They ventured further into the village.

          “Where are you meeting Karen?” Savannah asked Mandy, tilting her head around the boys between them to look at her.

          “Probably Puddifoot’s, right?” Sully asked, although he leaned around Ian and Mickey too to see her.

          Mandy looked ready to throw up. Mickey started laughing.

          “ _Not_ Puddifoot’s,” Mickey supplied for her. “Have you _seen_ that place?”

          “I think it’s nice,” Savannah objected.

          “It is nice,” Ian assured her, nodding his head, “which is exactly why Mandy and Mickey avoid it like dragon pox.”

          “You asshole,” Mandy said. “I can be romantic!”

          Ian, Mickey, and Sully all made various sounds of disbelief at her. Mandy crossed her arms.

          “Fuck you, you’re all men. What the hell do you know about romance?”

          “I know that it’s fucking _Valentine’s Day_ ,” said Mickey. “Which means Puddifoot’s is going to be even more revolting than usual. Tell me you’re not meeting her there?”

          “Yeah Mandy,” said Ian, grinning her way. “Tell us about how incredibly romantic you and Karen are that you’re going to Puddifoot’s.”

          “Fuck you,” said Mandy, flipping them off indiscriminately.

          “I don’t hear a no.”

          “Fuck. You,” she repeated. Then she added in a mumble, “We’re going to Ascendio. _God_.”

          The boys started to laugh, but Savannah said, kindly, “That place is supposed to be really cool.”

          “They serve liquor too, so I’m not complaining,” said Mickey.

          “To Ascendio!” said Sully.

          They all echoed him; Mickey’s was perhaps more jibing than good-natured, but Ian and Mandy grinned at one another as they shouted it with more gusto than the others, thrusting their fists up into the air. They started laughing, and Ian diverged from their formation to squeeze in between Mickey and Mandy instead so he could throw his arm around her. He had the fleeting thought that he had assembled this family, small and strange and mean, and he wanted to remember it—this moment, walking down the street laughing and shouting and all in love with each other. He could have lived in that moment. It was strange, because they were new and cobbled together and all very different from each other, but he had the distinct impression that he was meant to be with them, all of them, for a very long time.

          They burst through the doors to Ascendio like a pack of wild dogs. Savannah giggled as Sully tugged her across the floor by the hand, and Ian grinned at Mickey and did the same to him, laughing hysterically like it was the funniest joke ever told. Sully stuck his tongue out at them when they stopped at the booth they were sitting in. Karen was squeezed into the far corner; they must have found her there. She was snickering at them.

          “Have you been making fun of them all afternoon?” Karen asked.

          “They’re very cheesy,” said Ian, as he ushered Mandy in first so she could sit by her girlfriend while Ian squeezed in next, dragging Mickey beside him.

          “I prefer to call it _romantic_ ,” Sully said.

          “Oh yeah, romantic like Mandy’s romantic?”

          “Fuck you guys!” she said for the fourth time.

          Mandy flicked a complimentary peanut across the table. It devolved accordingly: very soon they were all just outright pelting them at one another, crying out when it hit them in the eye and laughing raucously when they caught one in their mouth. Eventually a pretty young woman came over, and they settled down somewhat to give her their orders. She was carrying a young girl on her hip and her nametag read _Jasmine_ , and as soon as she walked away, they immediately agreed to pool what they could to give her a good tip.

          “Do you know her?” Savannah asked.

          Ian looked at Mandy; Mandy looked at Mickey; Mickey looked at Ian. Almost at the same time, they shrugged and said, “No.”

          Savannah didn’t ask about it a second time.

          Sully, Karen, and Mandy just got coffees, but the others ordered drinks. Mickey just went with beer, but Ian got something fancy he couldn’t pronounce the name of but which had firewhiskey in it; Savannah ordered straight firewhiskey, poured some into Sully’s coffee, then proceeded to dazzle them all with her ability to pound shots. They all immediately decided that, far from their previous tolerating approval, they liked her quite a lot.

          “So, what are you guys doing with the rest of your day?”

          Karen was looking at Ian when she asked it, but the question was general and directed at all of them. Ian and Mickey glanced at each other, not having a concrete answer to that question, but Sully saved them all by speaking up first.

          “Before our moonlit stroll and picnic by the lake?” he asked innocently. Karen and Mandy immediately started booing him, and Ian joined Mandy in throwing more peanuts at him. He dissolved into laughter under the weight of their joined scrutiny and waved his hands at them; a surrender. “Alright, alright! We’re probably just gonna go sit on the bench outside Honeydukes and eat our weight in chocolate. Happy?”

          “Yeah, and _I’m_ the least romantic one,” Mandy snorted into her coffee.

          Sully tossed a peanut stuck to his shirt back at her head. “Hey, be with someone for a couple years and tell me how long the romance lasts.”

          “He bought me roses,” Savannah offered, and the rest of them immediately collapsed into exaggerated _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s they way she and Sully had done earlier. “Shut up,” she added, rolling her eyes.

          “So,” said Karen, turning her imperious gaze on Ian, “what are you guys planning for your romantic afternoon?”

          Ian knew she was just being curious, even though she sounded like she was trying to catch him out on a lie. Karen _always_ sounded like that—probably because she was really used to having to catch guys out on their lies. He shook off the unsettling feeling of someone knowing, along with Mandy’s shrewd look that ensued. He shrugged one shoulder.

          “No real plans,” he said. He deliberately threaded his fingers through Mickey’s and dropped them into the space between their thighs so everyone could see he did it. He expected Mickey to give him a look like he was being weird again, but Mickey just looked at him expectantly, just like everybody else. “Maybe take a walk down the lane and see what’s open. Some of the shops are closed, aren’t they?”

          Mandy dipped her head. “Zonko’s is, and the post office. Wizard Wheezes is always closed on V Day ever since someone ate the chewable heart sign they had outside.” They all cut a look at Mickey, who snarled back, possibly in memory of the godawful stomachache he’d had for days afterwards. Mandy finished reeling off her list, “I think most of the cafés are open, except for the Three Broomsticks.”

          “They’re usually open,” Ian protested. Damn, he’d wanted a good beer.

          Mandy shrugged. “Rosmerta must have a date.”

          “We could go to Honeydukes with them,” Mickey said, jerking his chin at Sully and Savannah. “Not to crash. To get chocolate or something.”

          “You’re gonna buy him chocolate?” Karen snickered.

          “I’m gonna buy _me_ chocolate,” Mickey corrected. Ian reached over with his free hand to muss up his hair. Mickey flinched away, glowering. “I spent time on this, Gallagher.”

          “Aw, you got all dressed up for me.”

          “How sweet,” Savannah said mockingly, and the others all made various noises of fake cooing at them now too; Sully made kissy noises at them until Mickey reached over the table to flick him in the temple.

          They ordered another round of drinks, and Ian was feeling pretty warm and light by the time they had all drained them, too. He had to extricate his hand from Mickey’s so he could pull out his wallet and pay his share. They bid farewell to Mandy and Karen, who were staying for awhile so they could start drinking, and headed out with Sully and Savannah. At the entrance, Ian turned around to check he hadn’t forgotten anything; Mandy and Karen were already making out in the booth. Ian wrinkled his nose and faced forwards again.

          “They sure didn’t waste any time,” he said.

          Mickey turned around to glance over his shoulder, then immediately recoiled.

          “Shit, warn me next time. How long has that been going on?”

          “Did you _just_ notice?”

          Mickey shrugged. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “Since winter break,” he said. “Don’t give them shit for it, they’re both really happy. Mandy especially.”

          Mickey gaped at him. “When have I _ever_ —“

          “Don’t even _start_!”

          Mickey threw his head back to laugh, loud and happy, and Ian grinned reluctantly before he plucked Mickey’s sleeve in his fingers and dragged him to catch up with the other two, who had pulled far ahead of them on the sunlit street.

          They all stayed together to buy their sweets and pay, and then Sully and Savannah sat down on the bench just outside the shop and waved goodbye to them.

          “See you tomorrow for lunch?” Ian asked.

          “Yep,” Sully said cheerfully. “We can tell each other all the dirty details of our nights.”

          Ian gagged. “Please stop. I don’t need to imagine girl parts in a sexual context. No offense Savannah.”

          “None taken,” she said, waving him off. “I know you don’t want to hear about how Sully likes to take his time, to really get me—”

          “We are _leaving_!” Ian declared, and they started to laugh. “Seriously. Goodbye you guys. Have a good night.”

          “Oh, we will,” Sully said. Savannah tipped him a huge wink.

          Ian let out a long, drawn-out groan and fumbled for Mickey’s hand so he could start pulling him away down the street. Sully’s and Savannah’s laughter followed them down the lane, and after they turned the bend he realized Mickey was shaking with it too.

          “What are you laughing at?” Ian said sharply.

          Mickey grinned. “You are _so_ easy to rile. It’s not that big a deal. We didn’t all grow up vag-free, kid. Some of us thought we’d have to be sucking tits a lot longer than through our baby years.”

          “You’re disgusting. And your home life is appalling.”

          “I know,” Mickey said cheerfully. “Hey, lighten up. At least you escaped having to hear Mandy talk in detail about her sex life over the phone. The walls are _really_ fucking thin.”

          “Trust me, I didn’t escape that. I probably had it worse than you.”

          Mickey grimaced. “Stop re-traumatizing me.”

          Ian grinned. “Now that you know about them, it’s gonna be all trauma, all the time, baby.”

          Before they made it to the end of the street, it started to snow. Not very hard, but it was still annoying. Ian glared up at the sky as he pulled his gloves out of his pockets and tugged them on. Mickey shoved his hands into his jacket and shuffled a little closer to him.

          “Find somewhere to warm up?” he suggested.

          Ian nodded enthusiastically.

          The thing was, after they’d visited the Hog’s Head for a few more rounds (the beer did _wonders_ to warm them up, although Ian could still feel the outside air’s chill through the layers of clothing and alcohol) and gone to see Mickey’s friend who operated out of the Inn above the bar, there wasn’t much to do. They managed to kill an hour with him, but then it was just them and a bunch of drugs in their pockets, standing out on the chilly street with the wind whipping their faces red.

          “Wanna go smoke this?” Mickey asked eventually, shrugging a shoulder with the arm shoved in his pocket (Ian knew his hand would be wrapped tightly around the bag of weed they had just bought) and nodding vaguely towards the mountains.

          “You want to _climb_ in this?” Ian said incredulously.

          “It’s not that steep,” Mickey argued. “We’ve done it before.”

          “Yeah, but now it’s gonna be all slippery from slush, and it’s going to be hard to walk through the snow still on the ground.”

          “It hasn’t snowed in days, it’ll all be melted by now.”

          Ian tilted his face up purposefully towards the sky.

          “This is just flakes,” Mickey said, waving some away from him as he spoke. “Come on. I’m bored.”

          “I want to smoke too,” Ian said, “but I am _not_ going in the mountains. It’s _February_. Find us somewhere else.”

          “You think of something then, I came up with the last plan.”

          “That was hardly a plan,” said Ian. Mickey was starting to glare though, so he just shook his head and said, “Fine. We could…oh my god.”

          Mickey whipped around to look behind himself, then turned back to Ian, glaring. He rubbed his still-bare hands together kind of aggressively to warm them up.

          “I thought someone was coming, you asshole. What?”

          “I know where we can go,” Ian said. He was starting to swell from excitement, standing up straighter and lighting up as he was. “Guess where we haven’t tried to break into in a couple of months?”

          It only took Mickey a minute.

          “The Shrieking Shack?” he said, his eyebrows starting to climb towards his hair. “We’ve never been able to get in there. It’s just gonna be a complete waste of time, man.”

          “Come on, it can’t hurt to give it a shot,” said Ian. “Look—it’ll be warm, it’s the perfect place to smoke. Besides, what better Valentine to give to each other, right?” Mickey still looked unconvinced. Ian added, pleadingly, “Come on, it’s your last year of school. It’s snowy as shit out, nobody’s going to be around. Let’s just go for it! The timing’s perfect!”

          Mickey pressed his lips together, still looking unconvinced. He looked behind him down the lane again.

          Slowly, he said, “Well…okay.” When Ian opened his mouth to let out a whoop, though, Mickey waved his finger threateningly and said, “You have half an hour, Gallagher. Then I’m finding somewhere to warm up before I freeze my fucking balls off. No weed’s worth this hassle.”

          “You’re the one always saying this weed is always worth the trouble,” Ian snorted.

          He didn’t give himself time to make fun of Mickey properly though, because he was already starting up the street before Mickey could change his mind. He walked backwards, not even turning around to look where he was going, until Mickey rolled his eyes in an incredibly dramatic fashion and broke out of his stasis and into a jog to catch up with him.

          They had to diverge off the main road to get to the path that led around where they had their best shot of getting in through the Shrieking Shack’s gates. They had spent plenty of time canvassing the area throughout the years and had determined that if they were getting in anywhere, it was along that path just on the outskirts of the surrounding woods. They didn’t go over there often, because it was littered with rocks perfect for breaking their ankles on and they figured their chances were barely improved over there than at the main gate, but they were using up all their luck now.

          Ian glanced around to make sure no one was watching or following them, then slipped off the main road and clambered over the fence that led off in a loop around the outermost trees, marking the edge of the main village. Mickey, much less cautious and way more careless, hopped the fence with an invigorated yell and stepped down hard wherever was directly in front of him, even when his footsteps lead him onto stray leaves that poked up through the snow and made loud crunching noises under his feet that declared to anyone nearby exactly where their location was and where they were going.

          “I’ll run off without you if we get caught,” Ian threatened the fourth time he did it before the closest rooftops in the village were out of sight.

          Mickey shrugged. “I’ll trip you and run faster,” he reasoned.

          The gate that they always went to was clear as ever. There was a small clearing around it, all covered in snow. Ian pulled out his wand and spent a good ten minutes trying to remember the spell to clear away the snow, while Mickey brushed a light dusting of white off a nearby rock, folded himself on top of it, and began to roll a joint. He was on his third by the time Ian finally remembered the right incantation and cleared them a decent sized patch on the grass. Ian grumbled a little as he tucked his wand away. Mickey glanced up.

          “That’s small,” he commented, and then went back to making a perfect cylinder.

          “Yeah, well,” said Ian, blithely. The truth was he couldn’t make the spell big enough for an appropriately sized circle and he was totally annoyed by it, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he went over to stand in front of Mickey and held his hand out expectantly.

          Again, Mickey barely glanced up. “Can I help you?”

          “You can give me one those joints,” Ian said.

          “I thought we were smoking inside. My fingers are fucking frozen, man. No way I spark a lighter right now. I can barely roll this.”

          “Well, I do have gloves, so I can light us up one before we try again. Come on, it will be less annoying if we’re high.”

          Mickey could hardly argue against any logic that led to him smoking weed in the very near future, particularly the strain that they always picked up in Hogsmeade, so he passed one up to Ian and went back to finishing the one he was working on. Ian took it with a flourish and put it between his lips, then started fighting with his lighter, which was shitty, old, and low on gas. Again.

          “How did you charm the one we lost in the forbidden forest?” Ian asked, shaking the lighter furiously.

          “The one that would burn in a hurricane or the one that would light it all up in one go to same effect of smoking it slow?”

          “The one that never ran out of gas,” Ian said.

          “Give it here.”

          Ian handed over the lighter too, and was thus resigned to standing there waiting for Mickey to finish toying with it and hand it back over. Instead, once Mickey tucked his wand away he reached out still holding it, and Ian bent down so Mickey could cup his hand over the flame and light it for him.

          “Even with numbs hands I gotta do everything for you,” Mickey said with a wicked grin while Ian straightened up and took his hit.

          “A pretty lady never lights her own cigarette,” Ian said loftily.

          “Yeah, okay Karen.”

          Ian snickered and passed the joint over. Then he rubbed his hands together and looked back at the gate that rose, dark and daunting, above their heads.

          “Alright,” he said. “Let’s beat this fucking Goliath.”

          He heard Mickey snorting behind him but ignored it. He set about pacing the length of the gate in their immediate area, even when it diverged out of the small circle he had cleared on the ground, but even as he began rattling the posts, none of them seemed to have any more give than they ever had. Magically reinforced, probably. A pain in Ian’s ass, definitely.

          “How high is that?” Ian asked, looking up towards the top. “I know we can’t reach on each other’s shoulders, but what if one of us launched the other over?”

          Mickey hadn’t budged from his rock. Ian went back to him to relieve him of the joint he had been steadily smoking down.

          “Then the other won’t be able to get over after,” Mickey drawled. “Besides, the top of that thing is pointed. You’d impale yourself trying to clear it, and probably dislocate a shoulder when you landed wrong on the other side.”

          “Who said I’d land wrong?”

          “Everything about you, your personal history, and your complete lack of luck of the Irish.”

          “Fuck you,” Ian said lightly, turning back to their mission. “There’s gotta be another way over.”

          “We already agreed on this, in like, October,” Mickey said. Ian heard him heaving himself up behind him, but he didn’t turn around. After a minute he felt Mickey settle by his side. “There’s no way _over_ , because we don’t have any fucking _brooms_. Our best bet is _under_.”

          “Going under hasn’t worked in the past four years, or going through,” Ian said impatiently. “There’s gotta be a way to clear the top— _without_ impaling ourselves or breaking any bones on the way down,” he added loudly, before Mickey could protest again, “and without any brooms, because we’re the poorest sons of bitches at this school.”

          “Good luck,” Mickey said scathingly. “Ain’t no magic to teach us how to fly.”

          Silence ensued. Ian puzzled over the gate; Mickey smoked the joint down to the filter and pulled out the second one. His words resounded in Ian’s head, and he felt something niggling at the back of his brain, pulling at his thoughts. A half-formed idea, waiting for him to snatch it out of the air…

          Ian grabbed blindly for Mickey. He ended up gripping tightly to his arm, squeezing hard.

          “Mickey,” he said breathlessly.

          “What—what?!”

          Mickey tried fruitlessly to break his grip. Ian was staring wide-eyed at the gate and paying him no mind whatsoever.

          “We have to go _over_!”

          “Yeah, you just said that, numbnuts.” Mickey shook his arm free finally, grumbling. “What you haven’t come up with is a brilliant plan to actually—”

          “We have to _fly_ ,” Ian said, wonder thick in his voice.

          “We can’t fucking—”

          “We. Have. To. _Fly_.”

          “We can’t fly,” Mickey said impatiently. “We don’t have—oh.”

          Ian turned to look at him. His wide-eyed amazement was reflected clearly on Mickey’s face.

          “ _Oh_ ,” Mickey said again. “Ian. Oh my _god_.”

          “I know.” Ian was nodding vigorously.

          “How have we not—”

          “I _know_.”

          “It’s so obv—”

          “Mickey. I _know_!”

          Mickey thumbed at his lip. “How do we,” he started haltingly. Then he spread his hands. “How do we get them?”

          Ian bumped his shoulder. “Thievery, of course. Jeez, who the hell are you? I figured you’d be the first to suggest we steal some. I thought we were on the same page here.”

          “I know that,” Mickey snapped. “I meant _where_? I don’t know anyone rich enough to—”

          “Come on, we’re in the village. There’s at least two behind The Three Broomsticks. And—oh my god. And Rosmerta’s _gone_.”

          “Holy shit,” Mickey agreed, and they took off running.

          It took a certain amount of maneuvering and a hell of a lot of sneaking to manage it, but they managed to nick a broom apiece from behind Rosmerta’s shop. Getting back out to the Shrieking Shack was harder when they couldn’t just walk down main street, but they managed to slip into the woods on the other side of the street from The Three Broomsticks and, despite getting turned around in the trees a few times, they made it back to their little spot by the gate half an hour after they had left. This time, they were looking at one another with bright eyes and hopeful expressions.

          “What if it’s warded?” Ian asked, even though he didn’t really believe it but it was better to consider all possibilities so they wouldn’t wind up disappointed.

          “Then I’ll kick your ass,” Mickey said. Ian cut him a look, and he elaborated, “For getting my hopes up.”

          “You have my permission,” Ian said easily.

          Then they were mounting their respective brooms and it was a nervous, excited look they shared.

          “This is it,” Ian said. “We’re finally—”

          And that’s all he got out before Mickey kicked off from the ground and left him behind a swirl of snow and a whoop of laughter.

          “You _asshole_!” Ian called as he lifted off too.

          Mickey stumbled to the ground of the other side of the gates three seconds before he did, and he hopped off his broom and jumped around in a tiny circle, arms spread wide.

          “First man on the moon!” he crowed.

          “By cheating,” Ian snarled, but he was grinning too.

          They looked at each other for a half a second before breaking out into peals of laughter and rushing forward to catch each other in tight hugs, dropping their brooms as they ran. They swayed a little in the wind and their exhilaration before they broke apart. They decided to get inside before anyone saw them and took off running in a playful competition, at full tilt towards the little crumbling shack.

          Mickey went for the door; Ian leapt straight through the boarded-up window in front of him and rolled onto the dusty floor inside first. He hopped to his feet just as Mickey barreled through the side door.

          “First man on the moon!” Ian shouted, throwing his hands up.

          Mickey tackled him to the floor.

          They rolled around for a couple of seconds before both silently agreeing to give up. They sat up instead, and Mickey pulled the joint he had put out from behind his ear, and they lit up again.

          “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Ian grinned, leaning back on one hand and taking a deep pull from the joint with the other.

          Mickey started to laugh.

          They sat there like that for a really long time, passing the joint back and forth until it was smoked down to its filter. Ian flicked it into a dark corner of the Shack and then stood up.

          “Let’s go explore?” he suggested.

          Mickey was all for it, so they climbed the stairs out of the empty main room and split off in different directions on the second floor.

          There was a crate that neither of them could move away from the wall, but other than that there wasn’t much to look at. That in no way took away from the novelty of it though, poking around at the stacked chairs and empty tables. Even the bed was old, the twin size mattress dusty and filthy, no blankets or pillows on top of it at all. The previous use of the Shack was common knowledge nowadays, but it was still a little disconcerting—not to mention a little sad—to imagine anyone having to stay here, even if just for one night once a month. Waking up would be bad enough, if this was a prison instead of an adventure.

          “I bet that’s where they snuck in through,” Ian said, pointing at the crate they couldn’t move from the wall as they reconvened by the staircase. “I bet you just need a spell or something to lift it.”

          The silent question hung in the air, but in the end Ian was glad that Mickey seemed to decide that he, too, was privately and senselessly scared of whatever horrors might potentially lay in the tunnel up to the grounds. Realistically there was nothing in there, but the very knowledge of what _might_ be—Ian could have shuddered at the thought. He was glad neither of them said it aloud though, because that way neither of them had to do it to prove a point, and they could just traipse back down to the empty first floor, where there was nothing but a couple chairs and a table pushed up against the walls. The snowy sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the boarded windows and from beneath the door, reminding them that they weren’t in the middle of a warzone.

          They folded themselves back down on the floor in the middle of the room. Mickey sprawled out on his back, but Ian sat cross-legged and peered around the tiny space. There really _wasn’t_ much to look at.

          “They should have just turned it into a historical site or something, if they didn’t want us sneaking in. You think this would be anywhere near as interesting if we were allowed in? With tours?”

          “Yeah, I guess there’s not really much to look at,” Mickey admitted. Then he turned a wolfish grin on Ian. “That’s the fun part.”

          After awhile of laying on the floor and warming up, they decided to spark up their last joint, hang out for another hour or so, and then head back up to the castle. It would likely be getting dark soon, and neither of them wanted to face the worsening weather once night fell. Getting back up to the castle in the growing snowstorm was going to be punishing enough already.

          By the time they had finished joint number three and flicked that into the corner with the second one, Ian was well and truly stoned. It didn’t help that the first one had bolstered his drinks at lunch and carried it longer through the day than it would have gone already, because he was still feeling the lingering effects of tipsiness as the tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, which was dipping around like it was gently rocking on waves. Ian closed his eyes.

          “I have such bad cotton mouth right now,” Mickey said suddenly.

          Ian popped his eyes open, letting out a startled laugh.

          “I wasn’t going to say any—”

          He didn’t get it all the way out though before Mickey sat up all of a sudden and held his hand out towards Ian. Ian glanced behind himself, at the firmly shut door, then back at Mickey.

          “What’s—”

          “ _Shh_.”

          Ian fell silent. He strained his ears for whatever Mickey was hearing, but he couldn’t hear anything over the wind and snow. After a second, he gave a quiet little laugh.

          “Mick, I think you’re just paranoid from the—”

          Then he heard it too. The soft rumble of voices from outside the Shack. Far away, but getting closer. Ian turned to Mickey with wide eyes.

          “You don’t think they’re coming _in_?” he whispered. “You don’t think they saw—”

          “Our brooms,” Mickey said hoarsely, “We left our brooms outside.”

          In the next second they were scrambling up in disjointed movements to rush to the boarded-up window. They crouched to peer through different slats.

          “Who’s the guy in the trilby?”

          “Sleazebag owner of the Hog’s Head,” said Mickey. “He must have seen us steal the brooms. Oh, shit—He brought Rosmerta…”

          “ _And_ Longbottom, _and_ the Arithmancy professor. Fu-uck…”

          “Least it’s not any of our Heads of House,” Mickey muttered. “Shit. Shit!”

          They exchanged another wide-eyed look of panic.

          “What are we gonna do?” Ian asked.

          “I don’t know. I can’t get another probation, they’ll call my dad up.”

          They peered out the window again—just in time to see the small group of adults notice their brooms. Mickey let out another stream of curses.

          “I can’t get caught smoking again,” Mickey hissed.

          Ian didn’t know what made him do it. In the long run, he’d like to hopefully pretend that he was doing it for Mickey’s sake, to get him out of serious trouble. For now he couldn’t yet convince himself that was entirely the fault of altruism that made him catch his eye, give him a half second to prepare himself, and then grab his shoulder.

          “Kiss me,” Ian said firmly.

          Mickey startled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

          “ _Kiss me_ ,” Ian repeated. Mickey wasn’t cooperating, so Ian explained in a rush: “Listen, they’re going to come in here in about a minute. We can either say we got out of the cold to light up, or we can play off the fact that we’re supposed to be _together_ and convince them we ducked in for some alone time. Listen, Mickey. I’m really fucking high right now. I’m not sure I can lie. So we’d better be fucking convincing.”

          Mickey wrung his hands. He cast another glance out the window. Ian swallowed hard. He was so not in any position to be speaking to teachers right now.

          Then Mickey said, “Ah, fuck—” and crashed his mouth down on Ian’s.

          Ian couldn’t even really enjoy it at first, because he was half listening for the sound of the adults’ oncoming approach. Then something shifted—the wind picked up, or the snowfall came harder, or Mickey’s hand found the small of his back. Ian closed his eyes and forgot how to breathe.

          Mickey’s mouth was warm. Ian had forgotten how much he missed it, in the intervening months since he had last had this. It was just gentle, soft presses of their lips to each other’s, tentative like a first kiss but familiar like a thousandth. Ian tilted his head to the side and pressed down on him a little harder, a little more insistently. It was hard to _think_ , hard to remember himself when Mickey was right _there_ , pressed against him so sweetly, clutching at the small of his back. Ian caught him again, and his mouth opened a little wider, and then it wasn’t like before, at Christmas, thinking he might have caught the tip of Mickey’s tongue: It was _there_ , definitely, and Ian didn’t think before he pressed his tongue past Mickey’s lips and along his own.

          Mickey made a muffled sound and then his hand was gone from his back, and he was pressing Ian up against the wall they were right beside. Ian could feel his hand like a hard weight beside his head, keeping them upright, and he caught a grip of Mickey’s hair to keep him tethered there for a second longer. After a moment, he realized Mickey wasn’t going anywhere, and he released his death grip on his hair.

          He forgot everything, everything except the way Mickey felt pressed up along every inch of his body, and how his tongue was strong and sure but yielding beneath Ian’s own, and how his hands seemed restless, pressing to his back, then to his waist, then up to cup his face in a gesture far more gentle than even Ian, who knew him better than anyone knew anyone, knew him capable of doing. Ian let his hands drift and wander in similar measure, drawing Mickey closer, impossibly close. His hands fell down, and down—they stopped at Mickey’s waist, and Mickey didn’t push him away, and Ian didn’t go further, but it felt…dangerous. Then—with nothing to prompt him but pounding blood and _Mickey Mickey Mickey_ in his head, in his heart, in his veins—they drifted further.

          Mickey breathed out. “ _Ian_.”

          They both paused. Half a second. Ian could tell Mickey was holding his breath. Then he grabbed him tighter and kissed him harder, fiercer, rougher than before. A line was being crossed. Ian couldn’t think.

          Mickey let out a broke noise and tilted his mouth open wider, and Ian took and took and took. The pieces of him that belonged to Mickey drifted further from his body, more for Mickey’s taking. His head swam.

          And it was like this, with the pair of them pressed against the wall by the window, losing time and space and everything in between, that the door to the Shack slammed open with a loud and resonating magical _bang_.

          They didn’t jump apart. Although Ian had somewhat forgotten this was coming, he kept his arms around Mickey’s waist and they rested their foreheads together, and breathed.

          It was both better and worse than Ian had thought; the adults were mad, of course, for their trespassing, but less so than they would have been if their excuse for privacy had been a real admittance of guilt about deviance and smoking, and since they had been so obviously caught necking, none of the adults looked close enough to notice how red their eyes were, or how they both still had alcohol on their breaths. They took their lectures with relief, grabbed one another’s hands as soon as they could, and barreled back out into the snow.

          Mickey dropped Ian’s hand as soon as they were out of sight of the Shack, and for once he didn’t even feel the sting. Still, he thought that Mickey was being unreasonably chilly as they made their way back up to the castle. Mickey kept his eyes on the ground, his arms crossed so his freezing hands were tucked under his armpits, and he didn’t say a single word to Ian the entire walk. Once or twice, Ian said something innocuous or joking—something like, “Karen’s gonna be mad _she_ didn’t get kicked out of somewhere for public indecency,” or “Hey, it’s just one week of detention—at least there will be plenty of time to plot our revenge,”—but Mickey just kept his head lowered and let out a grunt when he really couldn’t avoid answering. After the third time, Ian took the hint and fell silent. It was a long and cold walk up to the castle.

          It lasted through dinner, where Mickey sat on the other side of the hall; and through after, when Ian and Mandy sat in the Hufflepuff common room throwing things up in the air for the other to incinerate with a spell of their choice, and Mickey sat in a chair nearby, glaring out the window and not saying anything to either of them, but not going up to bed either.

          “What’s _his_ problem?” Mandy asked, leaning forward to whisper it to him.

          Ian shrugged. They had already told the others the news of their indiscretion at dinner, and they had all just laughed and congratulated them, with a few commiserating pats on the back about their punishment.

          “He’s been weird since we left the Shack,” Ian confided. “It’s weird—he’s not the type to get cowed by lectures, you know?”

          Mandy glanced back at her brother, her mouth twisted to the side. Then she started arranging their projectiles again.

          “Whatever. If he wants to get mopey, that’s his problem.”

          But Ian couldn’t let it go so easily.

          It wasn’t until that Monday’s afternoon that he found out that Mickey couldn’t let it go so easily, either.

 

          They were serving their first detention scrubbing the trophy room clean without magic, which meant that Mickey had snuck his wand in and they were sitting against a wall playing cards while Mickey magicked a sponge he had Summoned from the caretaker’s office into doing their work for them.

          “I have to talk to you about something,” Mickey mumbled, halfway through a game of magical Spit they had invented, which meant they were playing Spit with a magical deck of cards and it all involved a lot of slapping and yelling.

          Ian glanced up. “Shit—Hey, that’s cheating! What do you want to talk about?”

          “There’s no fucking rules in this dumbass game,” Mickey snorted. “Anyway…We gotta talk about Saturday, man.”

          On some level, Ian had known this was coming; that’s why they were sitting here, after all. He only tensed minutely. As he dealt another round, he said casually, “What about Saturday?”

          Mickey fidgeted. The movement stilled Ian’s hand over his pile, and he looked up at him.

          “Mick?”

          Mickey grimaced. “I think we…Christ, this sounds fucking ridiculous.” He took a deep breath and finally looked up, looked Ian straight in the eye. He said, very deliberately calm in Ian’s opinion, “I think we should call off the fake dating.”

          Ian’s hand stilled. He thought it a great testament to his resilience that he remained quite so immobile overall, even as his hand began to shake. Ian quickly resumed setting up his cards, looking down to watch his hands go through the motions. His brow furrowed. He didn’t look at him.

          “You think?” he said mildly.

          “Yeah, I do think.” He saw Mickey shake his head, even as his gaze remained glued to their game. “I just…Don’t you think it’s gone a little far, Ian?”

          Ian did not immediately answer. He took a deep breath in, then breathed it back out again through his nose. In, and out, and in. Monica had showed him that, years and years ago, back when she had still showed him things, back when there had been a Monica, and a _Monica and Ian_. He breathed out again.

          “I guess,” he said finally.

          “I just mean,” Mickey said, “It’s…It’s gone a little far, hasn’t it?”

          Like a flashflood, the recollection came back in flickers of sense-memory. Mickey’s tongue in his mouth. His hands on Mickey’s ass. A breath in the air: _Ian_ …

          Ian swallowed hard. “I guess,” he said again, more feebly.

          He finally looked up. Mickey was wearing a troubled expression and a thin line for his mouth. Ian got the distinct impression that he wanted to say something more. He didn’t know what to say himself, and so just kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to draw Mickey further down the path he seemed determined to force this conversation, nor to cement his decision further in his head. Ian felt the distinct need to fight this, to fight for what he had. But what did he really have? A fake boyfriend, and bad excuses, and false kisses that really kept him up at night. Ian breathed in deep.

          “If that’s what you want,” he said. Just a breath on the air. Afterwards, he wasn’t sure whether or not he had really said it after all.

          Mickey sucked in audibly. He dipped his head in an awkward, jerky nod.

          “That’s what I want,” he said. “That’s what I think would be…best. For you.”

          Ian startled, but Mickey was looking away again, eyes darting all over the floor around them.

          “Best for me?” he echoed hollowly. “What do you mean, ‘best for me’?”

          “You know,” Mickey said, nodding his head towards nothing, really. There was nothing. “This way you don’t have to keep lying to your brothers and sisters. And…” He took another deep breath. “You know. And the rest of the school, too. You can go back to…the way things used to be.”

          Ian knew what he was getting at; he wasn’t stupid. Mickey meant the way Ian used to be: Slipping quietly from bed to bed, smiling and flirting with the boys who batted their eyes at him and laughed too much at everything he said, going around and around and around. Suddenly it felt like spinning out in ways it hadn’t used to. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. He had the urge to get bullheaded, to shout that Mickey didn’t know what was best for him at all, but he didn’t know how he might be able to justify that after the fact, no matter how he tried to twist it. How was he supposed to tell Mickey that _this_ wasn’t what was best for him either, but it was better than the alternative, going back to how things used to be. This was as close as what was _best_ for him as he could get, and he wanted to cling to it. But he didn’t know how.

          Ian closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said.

          He could the ache climbing up his throat, the desire to cry, the need to scream. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, wishing that Mickey wasn’t looking at him, and then slowly felt the initial twinge ebb, just slightly. He opened his eyes again.

          “Okay,” he said again.

          Mickey blinked at him. He seemed almost shocked, but mostly just resigned.

          “Okay,” he echoed, sounding a little hoarse. Ian watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He said again, “Okay.”

          “I just…” Ian jerked his thumb over his shoulder. His detention wasn’t over, not for another two hours, but he would just have to trust Mickey to cover for him. “I’m just gonna…”

          “Go,” Mickey supplied for him, or gave him permission, Ian wasn’t really sure. Either way he nodded at him, grateful for the reprieve, and he dropped his cards as he scrambled to his feet.

          “Yeah…Yeah,” Ian said.

          He was backing away towards the door. The cards were his but he didn’t care. He just had to get away, to get out of the room. He needed Mickey not to know the things Ian could barely think himself; Mickey always knew him far better than he knew himself. He knew Mickey would see right through him, and maybe already had. Maybe running from the room was about as transparent as could be, but he just didn’t _care_. He was already sucking in air harder than usual, and he needed to _go_.

          Ian spun around and made a break for the door. He had just touched the frame when he heard from behind him:

          “Ian,” Mickey called.

          He was shaking gently. Ian squeezed his fingers around the stones of the wall and turned, slowly.

          “Yeah?” he said, as casually as he could.

          Mickey made quite the small picture, folded on the floor as he was, cards spread out around him where they had been half-dealt, half-thrown down by Ian, and he was shuffling the part of his hand that he hadn’t laid down yet over and over between his hands. He took a long time to look up. When he did, though, his gaze was very steady between them.

          “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow?” he said.

          Ian crooked a smile at him.

          “Yeah, Mick,” he said. He wondered if he sounded as sad to Mickey as he did to himself. “Yeah, I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow.”

          Mickey looked down again, nodding to himself. Ian hesitated, watching him, and then turned and fled down the corridor.

          He ran down the hall, down the grand staircases, across the entrance hall, and only stopped when he was back by the Slytherin dormitory. He stopped outside the wall that would slide aside for him, if he were to give the password. Instead he fell back against the wall and let it all wash over him.

          It took a long while for his breathing to stop coming in such short bursts, and for him to stop gulping air like he couldn’t get enough of it no matter what. He swallowed again and again around the urge to cry. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not here, not anywhere. This was not a breakup, because they had not been together, and they were still going to be friends, so there was no reason to cry, so he would not cry.

          After a very long time, he got himself back under control. He did not stop squeezing the stones of the wall where he had pressed his hands, and he did not open his eyes. He stood there for a very long time after his throat stopped burning. The past few months were a reel in his head, replaying everything in starts and stops and fast-forwarded reruns, until his memory pulled up short on the past few days. He paused and tried to refind who he had been, before all this. It was a lot to process.

          Ian breathed in, and there was his carefree laugh all the way back in November, at his birthday party; he breathed out, and there went Mickey’s hand in his on the couch in December; he breathed in Mandy’s laugh, and breathed out Mickey’s mouth, and that was him waking up in a strange dorm room, and there went him waking up in Mickey’s bed, and there were his friends laughing by the lake, and there went Mickey’s hands in his hair, and that was him hugging his family, and there went him curled around Mickey’s back on his bed. In, and out. In for everything he loved about before, and out for all the things he couldn’t be anymore, not if he was going to survive, not if he was going to survive _this_. 

          He breathed in everything he knew about himself, and quietly, on a breath out on the air, let Mickey go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN....
> 
> by the way, don't be alarmed if the chapter count denominator goes down. i'm working some things out, maybe shuffling some things around, and i might end up condensing some stuff so there may only end up being 18 or 19 total, not twenty. hey, i'm trying to balance keeping motivation up and still manage to, you know, _write_. it's the best i can do without uploading chapters that are only 3k apiece. but, nothing's been decided yet.
> 
> anyway! [you know where to find me ;)](http://bkinney.tumblr.com/post/144857468775)


	16. all fall down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being with Mickey had always been so easy. They fell very quickly into friendship all those years ago, and they had fallen into fake dating very easily as well. Now they were stuck staring at each other like a couple of assholes with nothing to say.
> 
> The thing was, it was very awkward be standing there talking to someone that you knew very well, especially when said someone was somebody that you loved very much. It was also, more objectively, very awkward to be standing there talking to someone whom you had kissed very Frenchly, and whose butt had very much been under your hands, when you had shortly thereafter promised to just be friends.

          The next day was appropriately murky out, in Ian’s opinion. The rest of the week seemed to follow his mood, which at least allowed him to feel like somebody was on his side, even if it was just the weather. He dragged himself out of bed to go to class, and dragged himself down the great hall to eat, and dragged himself pretty much everywhere that was directly necessary for him to be, but other than that he shut himself up in his dorm room and spent a whole lot of his time staring up at the canopy of his four-poster bed. His studies, contrarily, took a sharp upwards turn; when he got sick of looking at his ceiling, he either pulled his bag up onto his bed to slog through some homework, or he headed to the library for a different view and still ended up getting some work done. It was easy to follow simple instructions and do the mechanical parts of his obligations; it was hard to be bored by schoolwork when he was angry and upset by _everything_. At least he knew, objectively, that this would be a logical benefit to his life, even if it didn’t feel like it in the short-term. It was better than his third consecutive hour of staring at the ceiling.

          He saw Mickey again after only a couple of days. It was awkward; Mickey was walking back from one class, and Ian had very deliberately taken a different route than normal to his next class because he knew that he and Mickey always saw each other on the second floor in the hall. Mickey seemed to have had the same idea of a detour, because he was also walking on the fourth floor, coming right at him. They made eye contact, and then there was nothing else to do but say hi, even though they were both acutely aware that the other had been attempting to avoid them. Ian could only assume he felt the same twinges of discomfort that Ian was acutely aware of beneath all the pain of his absence.

          “Hey,” Mickey said, as they pulled off to the side of the corridor so they wouldn’t be too in the way of foot traffic.

          Ian managed a smile.

          The thing was, it was very awkward be standing there talking to someone that you knew very well, especially when said someone was somebody that you loved very much. It was also, more objectively, very awkward to be standing there talking to someone whom you had kissed very Frenchly, and whose butt had very much been under your hands, when you had shortly thereafter promised to just be friends.

          “Hi,” Ian said back.

          Being with Mickey had always been so _easy_. They fell very quickly into friendship all those years ago, and they had fallen into fake dating very easily as well. Now they were stuck staring at each other like a couple of assholes with nothing to say.

          “It’s getting warmer,” Ian said brilliantly. Sure, why not talk about the weather like Mickey was a friend of a distant, somewhat annoying other friend.

          Mickey seemed to be thinking the same of him. He widened his eyes a little and said, with a touch of sarcasm, “Yeah…”

          “We can probably go out to the lake soon,” Ian said, because it seemed very normal for him to suggest that he might, at some point in the near future, be okay with spending a warm day on the grounds with him.

          Ian was not a very good liar.

          “Yeah, that would be cool,” said Mickey, because what was he supposed to say to that. Ian hadn’t expected much else.

          “We could talk the girls into coming. Sully and Savannah too—”

          Mickey stood up straight all of a sudden. “Yeah,” he said, sharper now. “Sounds great. I gotta get to my next class, okay?”

          Ian faltered. “Okay,” he said, because since when did Mickey care about getting to class on time, especially when it was a question of hanging out with Ian over going to the Herbology class he knew he had next. Since now, he guessed. That seemed fair enough.

          “Okay, well…Bye.”

          But Mickey stood there for a second longer, kind of looking at him but not quite. More like he was looking somewhere around his shoulder, which normally was a good illusion to make it seem like he was looking someone in the eye when he really wasn’t, but they were standing too close for it to work. Ian said nothing. Mickey scratched at the back of his neck.

          “Bye,” Ian said finally.

          Mickey glanced at him. Then he abruptly turned and walked back the way he had come. Ian watched him go until he was swallowed by the crowd, and then he let out a very long groan and leaned his head back on the stone wall. He stayed there until long after the hallway cleared.

 

          “You’re spiraling,” Lip told him firmly on the second day of the third week of his moping about, albeit out of nowhere as he sat down hard on Ian’s other side where he was watching his spoon swirl through his breakfast cereal.

          Ian looked up. “Good morning,” he said tonelessly.

          “Good morning,” Lip said easily, then repeated, “You’re spiraling, Ian. You know we don’t have good enough genes to be spiraling.”

          “I’m not spiraling,” Ian snapped.

          “It’s one breakup!” Lip said, throwing his hands up. They slapped loudly back on the table. “Jeez, get it together. You’re still friends, aren’t you? You gotta still be friends.”

          “We’re still friends,” Ian confirmed, although he wasn’t sure if _that_ was true either. He had barely seen Mickey since the pseudo-breakup, though since he hadn’t seen much of anyone, he wasn’t sure if that was significant or not.

          “I’m just worried about you,” said Lip, even though he said it pretty flippantly and Ian wasn’t sure whether or not it was supposed to be sincere. “I don’t want you to get all…well, you know. Like we’re all worried about.”

          “You think it’s gonna be me?” Ian asked. He finally turned fully towards his brother, a little stung.

          “I meant,” Lip said aggrievedly, “like we’re all worried about ourselves getting.”

          “Oh.” Ian went back to stirring his cereal listlessly. “I don’t think this is, like, Monica spiraling. I think this is just normal, run-of-the-mill breakup spiraling.”

          “So you are spiraling, though?”

          “Fuck off.”

          Ian shoved him half-heartedly, but Lip didn’t really move. He gave up. Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Ian wondered if Lip was waiting for him to break the silence. He didn’t want to, but then a question occurred to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. So that he wouldn’t have to look at Lip, he squinted at his cereal and said, much more quietly than before,

          “How can you tell? The difference, I mean.”

          When he chanced a peek to the side, Lip looked surprised. He didn’t bother schooling his features back into something less insulting, but Ian supposed that was just who his brother was, and he didn’t really expect anything less.

          “Between how sad you’re entitled to be and when you’ve crossed the line into something to worry about?”

          Ian went back to squinting at his cereal. He wanted to protest the use of the word _sad_ , because that wasn’t quite right, but instead he just nodded minutely.

          Lip hummed thoughtfully. Ian spooned some food into his mouth. It was only his third bite in about ten minutes, so the cereal was getting soggy in the milk, but he didn’t really care that much.

          “I guess,” Lip started, slowly, and after a long moment, “you just know.”

          Ian snorted. “Very helpful, asshole.”

          Lip shook his head, a wry smile blooming on his face.

          “I don’t know, man. You should ask Debbie about this kind of stuff. I’m better with book smarts.”

          “I’m not going to Debbie,” Ian said flatly.

          “Well, I’ve never crossed the line into something to worry about,” Lip pointed out. “I guess I wouldn’t know what it would feel like.”

          Ian sighed. He guessed that was fair, even if he didn’t really want to admit it. Lip seemed to read it in his face though—even as he continued to keep his face turned away from him—because he gripped his shoulder bracingly.

          “Chin up, dude. I gotta get to class, but come to me if you’re starting to worry about how down you are. Or owl Fiona or something.”

          Ian looked up. “You think Pomfrey has a potion for it?”

          Lip shrugged. “Probably, if you want to go pilfering for a pick-me-up. I know some off-market stuff too, if you want names of who’s selling. Uppers, you know. Might be an easier channel to take. Less authorities to alert, you know? Unless you think you should be alerting some authorities.”

          Lip swung himself off the bench and hefted his bag up onto his shoulder. Ian shook his head. He felt weighed down, kind of tired, even though he’d slept plenty.

          “I don’t need any authorities alerted, thanks,” he said tonelessly.

          Lip shrugged. “Your call,” he said, starting to back away. “Let me know if you want those names.”

          Ian waved his hand in a partial goodbye and a partial assurance that he’d come calling if he needed. He had barely taken another bite when someone else plopped down in Lip’s vacated spot, and then another warm body took the other side so that he was trapped in. Ian looked up just as Mandy slung her arm around his shoulders.

          “Good morning,” she said cheerily, leaning her face really close to his. Probably to be annoying. It worked.

          “Good morning,” he returned, throwing her arm off of him. Mandy grinned wolfishly.

          Karen stole a piece of his untouched toast, then said, “Blech, this is cold.”

          “That was there when I sat down,” he lied, but only because Karen spluttered and spit it into a napkin. When she saw him laughing, she smacked him on the arm and told him exactly where he could shove his cold toast.

          “ _Anyway_ ,” Mandy said meaningfully, and he swung his head back towards her instead, “we actually came here for a reason, not just to disrupt the wallowing that you’ve perfected oh-so well. Karen?”

          “You see,” Karen chimed in, leaning in on his other side, “We’ve noticed you’ve been a little down lately.”

          “Damn, I thought I was covering it up really well.”

          “Don’t interrupt me. As I was saying—”

          “You’ve been avoiding Mickey,” Mandy cut in, tilting her head towards him.

          “So you’ll let Mandy interrupt you, but not me?”

          Mandy pinched his arm hard. “Don’t interrupt me,” she said severely.

          Ian rolled his eyes heavenward and prayed that the sky, which had been so very considerate of his feelings up until now, might start pouring rain in revenge on the girls. However, they were inside, and even though it did look a tad thundery, the enchanted ceiling did not acquiesce to actually wetting any of the students. Ian took a moment to soak in the pity of that notion before turning his attentions back to the girls.

          “—and it’s super depressing to see,” Karen was saying, while Ian pretended to have been listening all along.

          “I’m not avoiding Mickey,” Ian said, nonplussed, because that had really been the last thing he had listened to.

          The girls shared a look. Then they both looked back at him.

          “Yes you are,” they said at roughly the same time.

          Ian sighed. “Okay, so I am,” he admitted. “So what? What am I supposed to do?”

          “I don’t know,” Mandy said, but in this really thick voice like she was mocking someone stupid and not at all like she really meant it. “Maybe… _talk to him_?”

          “What?” Karen gasped. “What a concept!”

          “Please don’t patronize me,” Ian sighed, looking up at the ceiling again.

          They seemed to ignore him, although Karen did clap him on the back much like Lip had done.

          “We’re worried about you,” she said, and this time she sounded much more sad and sincere than her teasing had been.

          “Don’t be,” Ian said forcefully. “I’m okay. It’s just…a breakup.”

          “Oh please,” Karen snorted.

          Ian stared at her. It took a very long time for his brain to click it into place, because he hadn’t been doing much social interaction for the past week and a half and he needed to readjust to something other than schoolwork. But once he thought about it, it became very obvious what she was talking about. His mouth dropped open.

          “You _knew_?” he shouted. Several people around them turned to stare, and Ian hastily lowered his voice and hissed, “ _You knew_?”

          Karen waved him off. “Of course I knew, I’m not an idiot. You were always looking at him all piney and shit, and nobody looks at their boyfriend like that because they already, you know, are dating them. I mean, the lovey-dovey shit was also real obvious, but I thought that was just for show at first. So yeah, I knew.”

          Mandy snorted. “Not to mention I told her.”

          Karen glared. Ian whipped around.

          “Thanks,” he said sourly. Mandy shrugged and started making a plate of her own breakfast. Then to Karen, he said, “You let me take you out to an apology bar night for not telling you we got together.”

          Karen shrugged. “I didn’t know back then. Plus, free wingman for the night. Not bad, right?”

          “Fuck both of you,” said Ian.

          “That’s fair,” Karen said conversationally.

          Ian couldn’t stay mad for too long; he still felt so tired. After a second he slumped over so his forehead hit his folded arms.

          “So what do I do?” he moaned.

          One of them started rubbing his back. He assumed it wasn’t Mandy, but he didn’t look up to check. It was, however, Mandy who answered him.

          “You be his friend,” she said, gently. “You push aside all the rest of the bullshit and you talk to him. He misses you, Ian. And I know you miss him. You guys are not breaking up the friend group because of all this bullshit, you got it? Just…act normal. Stop being a pussy. Man up and go talk to him about all of this. Or ignore it, I don’t really care. Just be his friend again. I know you both could use one.”

          “You started off so nicely,” Ian said sardonically. But he let Karen rub his back, and after awhile, he thought that maybe he could be the person he needed to be. At least for a little while. Just long enough to clear the air.

 

          He waited two days to follow the girls’ advice, because even though he knew he needed to, it was still hard to work up the necessary courage to actually walk down to the Hufflepuff common room to get the job done. He got in without trouble, but it was physically doing what needed to be done once inside that was tying his stomach up in knots.

          The common room was not empty, but Mickey wasn’t there either. Ian took a deep breath as he approached the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. At least if Mickey wasn’t there, he could say he had tried his best for the day and go back to his room.

          Mickey was there when Ian pushed open the door. He was sitting on the floor, using his closed trunk as a desk to do what looked like Transfiguration homework. He must have heard the door close, but he didn’t look up.

          “Do me a favor and don’t snore too loudly if you’re going to sleep,” he said, clearly assuming Ian was one of his roommates.

          Ian watched him for a long moment before he cleared his throat. He still sounded kind of hoarse when he said, “Can we talk?”

          Mickey looked up so fast he seemed like he might crick his neck. He just stared for a second, eyes wide, before nodding gruffly and getting up from the floor. He sat down on his bed and his gaze was steady but strange when he looked at Ian. Something was clearly off about it, about _him_ , but Ian didn’t press.

          “What’s up?” Mickey asked.

          Ian did not immediately answer. He just sat down beside him, both of their legs hanging off the edge, Mickey looking at Ian and Ian looking at his hands.

          “We should…” Ian took a deep breath, still didn’t look him in the eye. “Talk. About…all of this.”

          Mickey laid down. Ian looked over at him finally. He was staring at the top of his bed, and wearing a very bored expression that Ian saw him put on sometimes. It was slightly different than his usual apathy; Ian rather thought it was more for show, a giant display of _look how little I care!_ even when he did care, often deeply. Ian’s brow furrowed.

          “What about?” Mickey said.

          “Don’t play this game with me,” Ian said sharply, so much so that Mickey looked over at him with his eyebrows raised.

          “Play what game?” he said flatly.

          “This apathetic, I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about-and-I-don’t-care bullshit! You’re always putting it on for the rest of the world, but it’s not gonna work on me.”

          Mickey fell silent. Ian glared at him, watching him swallow. He sounded just as sure but didn’t look quite so smug when he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” just as Ian had known he would, but still so infuriating.

          “God, you’re so—!”

          He did not finish the sentence. On the whole, he thought that maybe he was better off not making this any worse than it already was. He took a deep breath and waited for his blood to stop boiling, which was difficult because Mickey was well-practiced at inciting that exact reaction from anyone he spoke to.

          When he felt a little more level-headed, he said, “Can we talk?”

          “You already asked that,” Mickey said, flicking at a spot on his robes that Ian thought might be imaginary.

          He took a few more levelling breaths.

          “Look,” he said shortly. “I know things are weird right now. I don’t want them to be.”

          “Oh, well if _you_ don’t want them—”

          “Can you cut this weird tantrum bullshit?” Ian snapped. “I know we’re both super fucking uncomfortable right now, but—”

          “I’m not uncomfortable,” said Mickey. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

          “I don’t know!” Ian shouted, throwing his hands up. “Christ! Why do you have to be so fucking difficult all the time?”

          Mickey squinted at him. “This is a weird way to make things not difficult.”

          “You’re—Jesus Christ, Mickey! Stop being an asshole and just _talk_ to me. I don’t want…I don’t want you to…”

          To what? Completely ditch him as a friend? To have broken up with him at all? To not love him back? Ian didn’t know how to ask for all the things he wanted, and so he lapsed into the type of quiet that desperately needed someone else to break.

          A long silence stretched. Then Mickey said, “You’re right.”

          It was really quiet. So much so that Ian had to look at him sideways and say, “What?”

          “You heard me,” Mickey snorted, bumping his shoulder into Ian’s.

          It was as close to an apology as he thought he might hear. They didn’t say anything for another stretch of moments, which could have gone on for hours—Ian couldn’t tell over the deafening drum of his blood, pumping hot and steady in his ears. Ian smiled crookedly over at him.

          “Do you want to hang out tomorrow?” Ian asked. “Or—Saturday maybe? We could get lunch, and…I don’t know…just hang out.”

          He wondered if Mickey saw it for what it was: A peace offering of sorts. A chance to spend the day together as just friends, with nothing odd between them, for the first time in—months, really. An opportunity to see one another, when they hadn’t for nearly a full month. It had to be wearing on Mickey just as thinly as it was on him.

          Mickey rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. Ian pressed his lips together and waited for an answer. Mickey turned to look at him.

          “Yeah,” he said after a long moment. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

          Then it was just them, sitting on Mickey’s bed and smiling at one another. Despite the fact that it was the last thing he should be thinking, for one golden moment, the rest of the world fell away. It was just him and Mickey again. The way it was supposed to be.

 

          Ian felt a little happier the rest of the day, and Friday too. Even his friends noticed it; Mandy told him that morning over breakfast that he was a sickeningly in love piece of shit who needed to seriously get his act together before he did something even stupider than pretending to date for three months, which Ian knew really meant that she was happy that he was happy again, and that he and Mickey were talking again. He was eating lunch that same day, still feeling that swell of enthusiasm in his chest from reconciling with Mickey yesterday, when Sully sat down across from him.

          “Happy fucking Friday,” he sighed, already reaching for some mashed potatoes. He glanced up at Ian and paused, his eyes narrowing. “You’re chipper, which is weird because I know you just got out of Defense so you probably just got yelled at a lot. What’s up?”

          Ian rolled his eyes.

          “Don’t say that like I’m always in a bad mood. I happen to be an extremely positive person.”

          “Yeah, positively bitchy all around the clock. Seriously, what’s gotten into you? Or—” he grinned slyly, “—what have _you_ gotten into somebody else?”

          “You’re gross,” Ian laughed. “I’ve been single, what? Three weeks?”

          “Four,” Sully said, shrugging.

          “Oh, that makes the difference, then.”

          “So you talked to Mickey then, is that it?”

          He hunched over a little in on himself and said, “Hey, I could be in a good mood for other reasons than _Mickey_.”

          Sully just blinked at him. “So it’s Mickey then, right? Did I get it right?”

          Ian glared at him for a good five seconds before he slumped over and sighed, “Yeah, that’s about right,” and Sully pumped his fist in the air enthusiastically.

          “I knew it!” he crowed. “You two are getting back together, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”

          Ian rolled his eyes and dug back into the chicken he was eating.

          “One out of two isn’t bad,” he said consolingly. Sully flipped him off.

          “Are you gonna dick me around all day, or are you actually going to tell me what happened? Do I have to guess? I’ll guess.”

          “Don’t guess,” Ian said, exasperated. “Jesus, are you hyped on sugar or something? We just talked. And…well, we have plans to hang out tomorrow.”

          Sully clapped him on the back and grinned wide.

          “Good!” he said enthusiastically. “You guys are two certified halves of a whole mess without each other. It’s been getting pathetic to watch, honestly.”

          “I’m not that bad,” Ian protested.

          Sully grimaced. “You kind of are, man. But hey, look on the bright side. Now you’ve got your main man back, so you don’t have to do the whole moody wallowing thing anymore. Although I have to say, you’re like, _really_ good at it. Did you have a rough childhood or something?”

          Ian snorted. “Classy,” he snickered.

          “Hey, I never promised to be tactful.”

          “Thank god for that.”

          Sully just grinned at him, a ridiculous and mildly gross smile that was equal parts happiness and bits of spinach stuck in his teeth. Ian rolled his eyes and let Sully elbow him as they settled in companionably for lunch.

 

          Saturday was warmer than Valentine’s Day weekend had been, although only marginally. The snow hadn’t melted off the grounds, but the sun was bright and beating as Ian loped across campus towards the lake, now with Mickey back at his side. The way it should be, he thought.

          There weren’t many others out, the snow too slushy to play in and the warmer-than-it-had-been weather not nearly enough to entice many further than the windows, so although they passed a few people here and there, they mostly had the grounds to themselves. They traipsed down to the lake, Ian cleared them a patch on the grass, Mickey dried it enough to suffice, and they folded themselves down together in the small circle to eat the sandwiches that they had taken from the great hall. The space was small and their knees kept knocking and they had to sit really close together, but there was nothing to do about it—Ian was really bad with that particular spell, and he hadn’t improved in the intervening weeks since he had used it last.

          “So,” said Ian, swaying towards Mickey slightly. “How have you been? Drum up any new and exciting drama while I’ve been away?”

          If Mickey thought it a strange and only half-accurate descriptor of their time apart, he didn’t say anything. Ian took that as an indicator that it had been weighing on him just as heavily, if he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance they had formed around one another by cracking jokes about how Ian had chosen to handle it. Ian watched him expectantly, but he just shrugged.

          “Not really,” said Mickey. “There’s not much to do around here anyway.”

          “Really?” Ian asked, grinning now. “Because _I_ heard you send Mitch Amare to the hospital wing with boils the size of an egg.”

          “Yeah, but that’s not like, _news_. Fuck Mitch.”

          Ian laughed. “What did he do this time?”

          Mickey shrugged again and, instead of immediately answering, took a huge bite of his sandwich. Around all the food in his mouth, he said, “Pissed me off when I was already in a bad mood,” and Ian chose to laugh some more instead of pursue that particular line of questioning, seeing as how Mickey had just done him the same courtesy.

          “You’re always in a bad mood,” Ian said lightly, and Mickey tore off some of his crust to toss it at Ian’s head.

          “Fuck you,” he said, which was how Ian knew that he wasn’t mad.

          “Wait, that’s not right,” Ian said, tapping his chin in mock thought. “I _think_ I might have seen you smiling at something last week—”

          “Shut up,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. He had turned lightly pink Ian thought, but he offset it successfully by shoving Ian so hard in the shoulder that he fell to the side and had to catch himself on one hand, feeling the impact all the way up his arm.

          Undeterred even in the face of physical violence, Ian said, “ _And_ I swear that once, you actually told me we were _friends_ —”

          “Shut your _mouth_.”

          “— _best friends_ —”

          “Be quiet!” Mickey said, but despite the warning tone to his voice he was already in action.

          Ian laughed and let Mickey push him down on their little patch of grass. His sandwich ended up in the snow and Mickey ended up kneeling on top of him, holding his wrists down on the ground. One second Ian was still laughing and Mickey was still glaring, and the next his joy died in his throat. Ian swallowed. They stared at each other; the menace had faded from Mickey’s eyes, and now they looked wide and terrified. Ian opened his mouth around Mickey’s name, but before he could say anything, Mickey grunted out, “Sorry,” and scrambled away, back to his side of the grass. Ian sat up slowly. He rubbed at one of his wrists even though it didn’t really hurt, because otherwise he’d have to find something to do with his hands, and it was already hard enough finding something to do with his face and his legs and his voice.

          He cleared his throat. Nothing came out. He tried again and managed, “My sandwich is all snowy.”

          He watched Mickey cut his gaze to the food in the snow, then back to Ian.

          “Sucks,” he said distantly.

          “I’m not that hungry anymore,” Ian decided.

          They fell silent again. This was the part Ian hated: this awkward moment suspended between the pleasant ones, which had previously been filled with laughter and cursing and friendly jibes, but which had morphed into something ugly and confusing and scary in the last three months. Since he didn’t know how or when it had happened, he didn’t know how to go about fixing it now.

          “Want to go back up and play chess or something?” Ian said finally.

          Mickey nodded like he couldn’t agree fast enough.

          They managed to scrounge up a topic by the entrance hall, and then everything was back to normal again, but only on the surface—the memory of their sudden silence plagued Ian as they headed towards the Hufflepuff basement. He didn’t want this to be the way things were now, but he didn’t know how to solve it either. He laughed at something Mandy had said to Mickey at breakfast and put it toward the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

          The common room was relatively empty when they headed inside, just a few people scattered out into the corners to find snippets of peace to do homework or play games quietly with one another (with the exception of the girls playing Exploding Snap by the windows). Ian found them good spots by the fire while Mickey headed up to his dorm room to get the cards that Ian had left in the trophy room the other day, since neither of them were actually very good at or interested in chess.

           They sat on cushions on the floor in front of the table. Mickey started dealing them each half the deck.

          “Spit?” Mickey said, glancing up at him. Then he froze.

          Ian swallowed hard. The last time they had played Spit hadn’t gone over very well.

          “Bullshit?” he suggested instead. “The only other games I know are Kings and poker, but I can only play the drinking game versions of those.”

          “Bullshit’s good,” Mickey said, nodding a touch too enthusiastically. He was clearly feeling the uncomfortable effects of their last game of Spit too. “We need a third player though.”

          “Give me,” Ian said, reaching out for Mickey’s half of the deck. “I’ll split it into thirds. Go find Sully.”

          Mickey got up to oblige. By the time Ian was done shuffling all the cards out into three piles, Mickey was just returning, but with Mandy instead.

          “Couldn’t find him,” he said with a shrug.

          “Whatever,” said Ian, “we just need a third. Hey Mandy.”

          “Hey,” she said. “I’m better than Sully and we all know it. Which pile’s mine?”

          They arranged their cards into an order they could each work with, found the ace of spades, and commenced. Bullshit was even harder with a magical deck, because the numbers were liable to change at any moment and cards kept disappearing, and everyone got called out on BS a lot because even if they hadn’t lied when they put their cards down, they were sometimes lying by the time someone went to check. It was all very confusing, and they were all kind of ticked off by halfway through.

          “You were right,” Mickey said as he collected the pile yet again, “we should have played with drinks.”

          Ian snickered and threw a few more cards down.

          “You’re just mad you’re losing,” he said. “Two aces.”

          “Is it still though?” Mickey said skeptically.

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Are you calling it or not?”

          “Yes, I’m fucking calling it.”

          “Prepare to be super fucking disappointed then!”

          They both moved to flip the cards back over at the same time; Ian’s fingers brushed the back of Mickey’s hand when he reached for it too, and he quickly drew them back as though he’d been burned. He slid a glance at Mandy, who was watching him wide-eyed, then back to Mickey when he looked up.

          “Uhm,” said Ian. He felt thrown off-kilter, and there was no longer so much triumph and arrogance there when he said, “Is it still two aces or not?”

          “You’re clear,” Mickey grumbled, collecting those cards too. “I think this deck is rigged against me.”

          Ian laughed a little uncomfortably. He was still a little pink in the cheeks, and Mandy was looking at him like he seriously needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t exactly disagree.

          Instead of addressing any of this, Ian jerked his chin at Mandy and said, clipped, “Your turn.”

          Mandy wound up winning, then fetching them all some of her liquor stash so they would acquiesce to another round with her. Ian wasn’t really in the mood to be drinking around Mickey, not with their rekindled friendship so new and tentative, but he did knock back a couple of beers to make that confused nervousness in his gut go away. (That was new too. He didn’t really know how to handle it.) Mickey and Mandy were drinking the way Mickey and Mandy did, which was to say a whole hell of a lot. They were holding it down well, and seemed clearheaded enough to immediately start kicking Ian’s ass in round two. He wondered if maybe this game was easier drunk or if he was just really, really bad at it.

          They all started getting tired by the time Mandy won for the second game in a row, and they all threw their cards down in a mess on the table and kicked back to start talking and drinking more instead. By the time Mickey began actually falling asleep on the couch, though, they knew it was time to call it quits for the night.

          “Can I stay here tonight?” Ian asked as he was gathering all his cards together again.

          Mickey rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah, sure. You’re taking the floor though.”

          “Fuck off, I’m sharing the bed and you know it.”

          “Why do you always stay with me?” Mickey complained. “Spend the night kicking Mandy for once.”

          “Mandy’s going to stay with Karen for the night,” Mandy said, waggling her fingers at them.

          “Perfect!” said Mickey, gesturing empathetically at her. “You can take her empty bed!”

          “Boys aren’t allowed up the girls’ stairs,” Ian sighed.

          “Why not?”

          Mandy smirked. “Because boys are pervs,” she snickered. “You two have fun though.”

          She blew them a sarcastic kiss as she backed away towards the exit. Mickey flipped her off, looking characteristically disgruntled, but Ian just smiled ruefully and waved back at her. He waited for the door to close behind her before he turned back to Mickey.

          “Shall we?”

          “Yeah, yeah.”

          Ian followed him up the stairs to the boys’ dorms, then into his room. Three of his roommates were already asleep, and the other two beds were empty. Mickey headed to the one by the window and threw his wand down on his sheets so he could start kicking off his shoes.

          “You need the bathroom?” he asked.

          Ian waved him off. “You can go first,” he said.

          Mickey shrugged and reached back to start pulling his robes over his head. Ian quickly averted his eyes, flushing slightly; they had stripped in front of each other innumerable times before, had held eye contact and entire conversations while they were doing it before, but now it was _different_. Not because anything had really shifted _between_ them, but because of something in Ian. It wasn’t an idle thing about him having nowhere else to lay his eyes while they talked—it was something else entirely. It was about him _wanting_ to look, wanting to see the way his skin came up into view, wanting to see him all bared out like that. Mickey wasn’t even unbuttoning his robes the way they were meant to go, so there wasn’t anything inherently sexy about the way he tore it off straight upwards, but it was still…Mickey. So Ian was into it anyway.

          He turned his face away so he wouldn’t have to look. They weren’t talking, and he had nothing else to look at, but he still studied anything and everything else in the room—anything to avoid looking directly at him. He knew Mickey’s eyes were on him, but it was easier than having to live with himself knowing that he’d looked and spent the whole time… _wanting_. Somehow that would be crossing a line.

          Mickey jerked his chin towards the bathroom.

          “Be out in a few minutes,” he said, already walking away. “After that it’s all yours.”

          Ian just nodded. Even when he turned towards him, he kept his gaze directed partially over his shoulder so he wasn’t really looking. Then Mickey was turned around, and Ian’s gaze automatically drifted down, and—yeah, Mickey’s ass was still as nice as ever, even covered up by his boxers as it was. Ian shook his head to himself, really relieved that nobody else in the dorm was awake. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to look any of them in the eye with the way he was going.

          Mickey was only in the bathroom for a couple of minutes, during which time Ian had plenty of opportunity to lay in his bed, stare listlessly at the ceiling, and talk to himself.

          “Jesus Christ,” he muttered for the third time in about as many minutes. “Jesus _Christ_. I am going to ruin this fucking friendship. _Again_.”

          Interestingly, bashing himself did very little to aid the situation, and he was still internally berating his own character when Mickey returned. He immediately whipped a hand towel at his stomach. Ian let out a great rush of air at the impact, failed to catch the towel, and sat up fast, glaring at Mickey, who was laughing.

          “Think fast,” Mickey said, throwing the towel at his head.

          Ian grabbed it where it had stayed plastered to his face, glaring some more.

          “You’re a child,” he snapped, climbing off of the bed. Mickey immediately launched himself into Ian’s place and laid there with his hands behind his head, smirking like an asshole.

          “Run along. And make it quick so this asshole can go to bed.”

          Ian rolled his eyes and threw the towel back at him. “Get fucked.”

          Mickey just grinned at him.

          The bathroom was a merciful reprieve of the entire past day. Ian felt it washing off him in lovely rivulets down his cheeks as he splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth with a finger and some toothpaste. When he was done, he set his hands on the edges of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror, gaze hard.

          “You’re better than this,” he chided himself. “Just be… _Ian_. Don’t fuck this up for us.”

          He held his fierce stare just a little bit longer to make sure his reflection really got the message, then sighed and slumped forwards a bit. God, he was talking to himself in the mirror. He had really sunk this low.

          When he headed back out to the dormitory, he found that Mickey had already burrowed under the covers, leaving just a Mickey-shaped lump in the center of the bed. Ian sighed by the side of the mattress. Then he climbed in beside him, nudging him over. He wasn’t sure if Mickey was fully awake or not, but either way he scooted over to make room for Ian next to him. There wasn’t a lot of room squeezed together on a twin size bed, and Ian couldn’t tell if it was blessing or curse as he laid still, staring up the canopy above him.

          After a few minutes of tenseness, Mickey rolled over next to him. His eyes are bright in the dark.

          “Are you going to share this bed like a goddamn adult or what?” he demanded.

          Then he rolled back over.

          Ian sighed, and rolled onto his side. Mickey snuggled closer to Ian’s chest when Ian carefully draped his arm over Mickey, and Mickey grabbed his arm to help situate him better around him. After a minute, he settled. Ian curled around him and closed his eyes. It took a second, but then he breathed out—a long, heavy breath that felt better exhaling than he’d known it would.

          Today was supposed to be a welcome embrace back into the good graces of Ian’s most reliable, deepest, best friendship—but it had only dipped further and further toward Ian’s complete internal annihilation the longer it went on. Sure, it was good to be friends with Mickey again. But Ian wasn’t stupid enough to think that everything would clean up nicely at the end; he knew exactly what his future looked like if he kept treading this path he was carefully plowing through the undergrowth. But if it meant he got just a little bit more time with Mickey—by God, Ian would tread it.

 

\- - -

 

          Weeks turned into months, and their friendship slowly rekindled. It was hard; Ian felt it hadn’t just been knocked over, but it was completely burned to the ground. It wasn’t a matter of picking up the pieces, but of rebuilding it steadily out of the ashes. The task was hard, and backbreaking, but piece by piece they found themselves again. It was both excruciatingly difficult and unreally easy. Ian’s heart still ached dully from time to time, but it was really very simple to quieten that part of him and remind himself of all the good things he had with Mickey by his side, and ignore the near-silently breaking pieces of him that wanted _more_.

           As June approached, then arrived, exams were a very real threat to Ian’s health and happiness. He found himself up all night more often than not, usually dragging Mandy into the library or down to the common room with him, which she was only too happy to do. Ian’s time with Mickey was dwindling steadily down to nearly nothing, but it was the same way with Karen and Sully and Savannah too—anyone not studying for the same exams were quickly losing the regular contact they had been enjoying all year. Ian was feeling the inter-year pressure more than usual between the trouble brewed between him and Mickey this year and the recent additions to their friend group, which Ian suddenly found in jeopardy. He wasn’t the only one feeling the divide; Mandy complained constantly about seeing less and less of her girlfriend, and the meals Ian could snag here and there with his other friends revealed that they were similarly struggling to see one another.

          “We’re three weeks to exams,” Mandy groaned, lying upside-down on the couch so her feet were in the air and her head was swinging towards the ground, next to where Ian was sitting beside the couch on the floor, “and then before we know it, it’s going to be summer. I haven’t seen Karen in _eight days_.”

          “What are you gonna do during break?” Ian asked, by which he really meant “what are _we all_ gonna do.”

          Mandy kicked her feet unhappily.

          “We’ll see each other,” she said, frowning at him like she didn’t truly believe it. “Karen’s certified to Apparate already, and Mickey should be too by next month if he doesn’t fail his exam again. For the fifth time.”

          “What about the others?”

          Mandy gave a shrug that was somewhat awkward in her position, but Ian got the message.

          “Floo?” she suggested. “Savannah’s turning seventeen next month too, maybe she’ll be able to Apparate too.”

          “Fat chance,” Ian grumbled. He aggressively crossed out one of the answers on his Charms practice exam and started rewriting, pressing so hard down on his parchment that his quill started scraping down on the tip. “Have you seen her practice? She’s splinched herself like, three times. Just between the two days I was watching her.”

          Mandy groaned and covered her face with her hands. “ _Fuck_! Mickey had better learn fast so he can take me by Side-Along. I will _not_ be stuck in my fucking house all summer. I’m already there all alone.”

          Ian frowned. “You can come stay with me,” he offered.

          Mandy uncovered her face. She stared at him. He stared right back.

          She said, “Are you ser—”

          The door opening effectively cut her off, as they both turned to look at who was entering. A wide grin spread itself across Ian’s face.

          “Speak of the devil,” he said wryly.

          “Shut the fuck up,” Mickey returned, flipping him off smoothly. “You guys were talking about me?”

          “Just about how bad you are at Apparating,” Mandy said, dipping her head in a long nod. She laughed when Mickey brandished his wand at her. “Relax, we were talking about Savannah too.”

          “About how we need you guys to pass your tests next month,” Ian hinted. It was so unsubtle that Mickey snorted as he walked past their couch and towards the stairs to his dorm.

          “Whatever. I don’t need anyone to starting nagging me about it. The teacher does that good enough on her own. How’s it any of your business anyway?”

          “So we can hang out at your flat this summer,” Ian said, at the same time that Mandy answered, “So you can lug me around all summer, bitch.”

          “You, in your dreams,” Mickey said, jerking his chin in his sister’s direction. Then he did the same to Ian and said, “You, what? Can’t go a couple months without me?”

          It was obviously a joke. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “Yeah, because we’ve been hanging out so much recently,” he drawled.

          “Blame exams, not me,” Mickey said, holding up his hands. When he put them down, he held one hand over the doorknob that would lead him up to bed. He paused though, and arched an eyebrow, looking at Ian appraisingly. Ian stared right back. At length Mickey said, “You and me, Hogsmeade. This weekend. Bring enough money to get completely shitfaced.”

          Ian grinned. Something was bubbling up in him, warm and slow and happy. He kind of hated the feeling for daring to exist right now, for the reasons that it was.

          “You’re on,” he said.

          “Sunday,” Mickey said decisively. “By the statue I took you down for your birthday, okay? You remember the place?”

          “I remember,” Ian confirmed, nodding.

          “Then have fun studying, assholes,” Mickey said, and he turned and went up the stairs to bed.

          Ian sighed as he heaved himself up and flopped down on the couch next to Mandy. He struggled until he was hanging upside with her. They shared a commiserating glance.

          “Study break over?” Mandy lamented.

          Ian grimaced, but internally he was thankful that she wasn’t pursuing the subject he knew she could read all over his face.

          “Study break over,” he confirmed.

 

\- - -

 

          Sunday seemed for once to fortuitously pair nice weather with a day off; the sun dawned in bright through the Slytherin fifth year boys’ window. As Ian stretched out in his bed for the morning, he remembered that his plans for the day had gone straight from studying to gallivanting around the village. He grinned as he threw his covers to the side and climbed out of bed.

          The great hall was filled with pillow-lined faces and people propping up textbooks on the edge of the table. Ian threw himself into the seat beside Karen and flung an arm around her shoulders as he did so. Karen eyed him appraisingly.

          “You look like you’re seconds away from kissing me on the cheek,” she said guardedly.

          Ian laughed and took his arm away, only to start piling fruit into a bowl with his freed hands.

          “Am I not allowed one good mood anymore?” he wondered.

          Karen curled her lip. “Not with exams so close,” she said. “Who spiked your juice with Euphoria Elixir?”

          “Don’t be so doom and gloom.” Ian shook his head. “I gave myself the day off, okay? Me and Mickey are going down to the village for lunch, and to blow off some steam.”

          “Oooh.” Karen waggled her eyebrows at him for fuller effect. “You and the boy toy got a real live date, huh?”

          “ _No_ ,” said Ian, elbowing her soundly. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

          “It gives me a purpose in life.”

          “Yeah, well. Find it elsewhere. I hear Sully is dying to be heckled into submission. He’s this close to failing his exams, and they haven’t even started yet.”

          “I’ll start in on him later,” Karen assured him. When she grinned at him, Ian broke out into laughter.

          “Tell me you’ll come by all the time this summer,” Ian said when he sobered slightly.

          “I hear you asked Mandy to move in, so I’ll be by so much you’ll get sick of me,” she said, smirking. “And then another couple of times after that.”

          Ian rolled his eyes. “Those plans are tentative. She swears she doesn’t need my help.”

          “Well, of course she doesn’t _need_ it.” Karen stabbed her fork in his direction; globs of ketchup fell off and onto the seat between them, and Ian had to dodge out of the way to narrowly avoid them. “You make sure she gets a safe house to stay in this summer, you hear me?”

          Ian shook his head again. He was smiling wryly when he looked up at her and said, “Wow. You actually _care_ about her. Never thought I’d see the day.”

          Karen snorted. “Don’t be such a dick.”

          “Don’t be nauseating then.”

          She stuck her tongue out at him and went back to eating. Ian did the same, and they were in amicable silence for about half a minute before Mickey appeared on the other side of the table and planted his hands hard enough to shake their bowls; they both looked up. He was grinning.

          “What’s up, bitch? Bitch Two?”

          “Jockstrap,” Karen greeted. “How’s it hanging? Still a little high?”

          “Ha ha,” Mickey said blandly. He sat down across from them. “What’s for breakfast?”

          “A bunch of healthy shit,” Ian said, wrinkling his nose. “I think they’re trying to get us to improve our brain functions or something? For exams?”

          Mickey eyed a strange-looking fruit to his right wearily. “Is it working?”

          Ian shrugged. “I haven’t puked yet, and I don’t know what half of this is.” He gestured at his bowl of fruit and yogurt.

          Karen jabbed him in the side. “You’re so dramatic,” she said. “Just admit you secretly like fruit and get on with it.”

          “My deepest secret, revealed.”

          Mickey flicked a stray bit of cereal left on the table at their heads to get their attention.

          “When do you wanna go down to the village?” This, directed at Ian.

          He shrugged. “Lunch plans, right? Wanna go down at like, eleven? That way we have time to get down there and mill around for a little bit, eat, hang out some more, and still get back before dinner.”

          “Interesting. Do you make all your plans around food?”

          “If it ain’t broke…”

          “Yeah, yeah.” Mickey shot him a smirk. “Fine, eleven it is. Pass me the fucking yogurt.”

          They all had breakfast together, then afterwards Karen had to return to the Slytherin dorms to get dressed and finish up some Charms studying from the night before so that she could go on a lunch date with Mandy later. Ian waved her off from where he remained at their table, taking his time eating since he had nowhere real to be. Mickey sort of vaguely nodded at her, which was basically a heartfelt goodbye since he didn’t sneer or anything while he did it. Ian thought privately that he knew far too much about Mickey’s habits and mannerisms, but he wasn’t sure that he would trade the knowledge, if he could.

          After breakfast they trudged up to Hufflepuff common room so Mickey could grab a few things—his wand he carried on him always, but he had a watch and some coins he wanted to grab before they left.

          “We have an hour,” Ian said as they ducked back out of the Hufflepuff basement. “We could walk around the lake or something.”

          “We could just go now,” Mickey said. “It’s not like we’re waiting for anything.”

          So they did. The corridor where they snuck out through the statue in November was empty, but they still made quick work of charming it out of the way and slipping through the back just in case. Mickey poked his head back out into the hallway just to check that the coast was really clear, then tapped the marble with his wand. They watched the statue slide back into place, covering them in darkness, and then set off in a quick walk down the black passage.

          “Still feel like you’re gonna get murdered down here?”

          Ian could hear the wryness in Mickey’s voice, could practically feel the way he was probably smirking like he was just so clever for remembering that through the intervening months. Ian shoved him in the back, making him stumble a little. Mickey let out a bark of laughter.

          “That’s a yes,” he snickered.

          “Shut the fuck up,” said Ian, rolling his eyes. “Some of us have normal survival instincts.”

          “Not me,” Mickey said proudly. “I’ll probably get murdered doing something like this one day.”

          “No kidding,” Ian snorted. “At least you’ll put up a decent fight.”

          “Decent? Please. I’d take at least three…no, four of them down with me before I go.”

          “Why is it a gang of killers in this scenario? Did you piss off several people at once, or is there a small entourage somewhere out there, collecting other serial killers to join them on their crime spree?”

          “Dealer’s choice.” Through the dark, Ian could make out his shoulders shrugging. “That does sound like me though, doesn’t it?”

          “More than all the other deaths you’ve ever postulated for yourself,” Ian said. “Hey, remember that time you thought you would die from cooking pancakes?”

          “That was legitimate,” Mickey said. Ian could tell it was through his teeth, even though Mickey was facing away from him, walking on ahead. “I almost _died_ that morning. And now you’re making jokes about it. I could have died.”

          “Oh _please_. So you burned breakfast.”

          “Almost. Died,” Mickey insisted. “What about you? How are you going out?”

          “Oh, axe-murdered by an angry ex, definitely.”

          “Yours or his?”

          “Probably his. None of my exes want to see my face ever again.”

          They chortled together because it really wasn’t funny, any of it, which was why it sort of was. It was easy, laughing and joking in the dark with him—Ian could almost pretend that all his aches and less-than-decent feelings towards him only existed out in the light, just like every else. Reality didn’t exist in the dark passage to Hogsmeade. Only him and Mickey did, and they could stir up trouble well enough on their own without their mess of a life getting in the way.

          The sun broke through the cracks in the exit door like a beacon. They squinted as they came back into natural light, half-blind and stumbling their way onto the concealed path that would take them the rest of the way down to the village. The walk was long but the day was hot and beautiful, and anyway Mickey was beside him, laughing and joking and touching him here and there—playfully, friendly. It was almost like old times; for a few seconds Ian could believe it was.

          The village wasn’t crowded, despite the weekend and good weather; students were crammed up in the castle preparing for exams and adults were feeling the pressures to prepare for summer term at whatever job they worked. He and Mickey pretty much had the run of the place, and they took full advantage of the lack of teachers swarming them. Mickey did a cloaking charm he had been practicing for his Transfiguration NEWT on them to turn their school robes into regular day robes, so as long as they avoided anyone who knew them too personally, they were in the clear to do whatever they liked.

          They stopped in at Honeydukes for snacks, then crowded into a corner bar in Ascendio. Mickey, of age, ordered them both drinks as though they were just for him, then slid the rum and coke across the table at Ian as soon as their waiter left. It was cool down his throat, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day and the heat of the way he was starting to recognize that it was just him and Mickey, just him with Mickey’s attentions—and for all intents and purposes, where they any other two people, it might have been a date. The knowledge of it crawled warm and sure down Ian’s spine.

          The drinks were good and strong, and after a few of them they turned from looking at the scores of the recent Quidditch games—which were emblazoned in fiery red letters on a corkboard above the bar, with a spell that made them change automatically after every game—and discussing their outcomes to each other instead. Ian sipped at his third rum and coke—this time with cherry syrup too—and twirled the straw around as he listened to Mickey telling him some dumb story involving Sully, the sixth floor balcony, and a hot air-sized water balloon.

          “When was this?” Ian asked, after Mickey had finished the thrilling conclusion wherein Sully spent three hours hanging off the side of the castle, soaking wet in the middle of a snowfall.

          Mickey drank some more too.

          “I don’t know, maybe…early April? No, late February?” He waved his hand. “I don’t know. It was right before you and I started talking again.”

          Ian swallowed. “Oh yeah…”

          Mickey seemed oblivious to his discomfort around that particular time frame, as he went on, “Yeah, well without you I needed somebody else to get in a whole lot of trouble with. Sully was the only one dumb enough to go along with anything I said.”

          “Stop duping our friends.”

          “Never.”

          They shared grins. Then Ian cleared his throat.

          “So…You were spending a lot of time around Sully then, huh?”

          Ian watched him carefully, eyes glued to his face, but Mickey just shrugged, seeming unbothered.

          “Yeah, well. Karen and Mandy hung around you a lot—I mean, I know they weren’t picking sides or anything, but still. Me and Savannah still didn’t know each other that well then, but I mean, that’s why we started hanging out more. Because Sully and I did.”

          “He’s cool like that,” Ian said. “You know, making you feel like he’s picking you even when you know he’s not picking anyone.”

          “Yeah,” said Mickey. “Plus, you know. He was the one who told me about all that stuff with you in the first place. I figured he had a right to know I wasn’t angry. You know?”

          Ian paused in another sip, staring at Mickey in suspended time. Then he shoved his drink away from him on the table, so hard that it sloshed a little over the sides. He just gaped at Mickey for a few seconds, mouth working desperately to say something, but he didn’t manage it until Mickey looked back up at him with his eyebrows raised.

          “ _What_?” Ian sputtered.

          Mickey gazed back impassively. “What?” he asked, clearly bemused.

          “Sully told you _what_ all about me in the first place?”

          Ian’s heart was pounding, and hard; he felt like he might have run a very long way just to get here, and now he couldn’t even _breathe_ which was ridiculous because there was absolutely no way Mickey meant what he thought he meant, Ian was just overreacting because he had so many secrets he needed to hide—

          “How you—you know.” Mickey shrugged. But his eyes were on his jack and juice and Ian couldn’t breathe, because he knew all of Mickey’s tics and this was just one of them. Him, talking about something like it didn’t matter. Eyes anywhere but Ian. Talking about something because it mattered. Then he finished, “How you feel.”

          Ian was choking. “How I _feel_?”

          “About…” Mickey took a deep breath and finally looked up at him. “About me.”

          “Oh. And…and how do I feel? About you?”

          Mickey wasn’t looking at him again. His gaze slid sideways, over his shoulder—anywhere but at his face.

          “Look,” he sighed at last, “Don’t take it out on Sully, man. He just said…that it was, you know, pretty obvious that we were…you know, in…like that. And at first I thought that he was just crazy, or that we were just playing our parts real well. But once he said it, I started to look—look closer, I mean, you know? And it just…I just started to notice things…”

          Ian’s hand was clenching around his glass, so hard he was surprised it wasn’t shattering beneath his fist. He felt like he might sizzle out of his body—or melt right into his seat. Either way, he wasn’t sure that he could stand being _Ian_ much longer, not if it meant he was having this fucking conversation, in this place, with Mickey, right now.

          “What did you notice?” he asked through a clenched jaw. “What do you think you noticed?”

          “I think…I think he’s not as dumb as he looks,” Mickey offered.

          “None of us thinks Sully’s dumb,” Ian said automatically, blinking.

          Mickey shook his head slowly. Grimly.

          “No, we don’t,” he agreed.

          His voice sounded about as tight as Ian’s chest felt. Ian took a deep breath and looked back down at his glass. He forcibly pried his fingers from around it, only to start tracing the rim of it with his index finger. He felt like he might _cry_ of all things, which was just so ridiculous he would probably curse himself—literally—if he broke down in front of Mickey right now. He just felt like he was bubbling over with emotions and none of them knew where to go.

          “So…what do you think?” he asked, softer now.

          Mickey didn’t answer right away. Ian kept his attention fixated firmly on his drink. Then Mickey called softly, “Ian.” When he didn’t answer, he said it again. Ian looked up at him.

          “Are you in love with me?” Mickey asked.

          The breath rushed out of him all at once. He had known it was coming, but it still stung like a bitch. The worst part was that there wasn’t anywhere to go: He could lie, but he already knew it would come out feeble; he could deflect, but that would just be embarrassing on top of being obvious; he could tell the truth, and lose everything.

          His mouth worked senselessly for a prolonged moment. Then he choked out, “I have to go.”

          He stood up, fingers already fumbling for the coins to pay for his drinks. Mickey scrambled to his feet too.

          “Wait—Ian, _no_ ,” he said, one hand reaching out towards him. “Ian—”

          “I have to go,” Ian repeated mechanically. His hands were shaking; he found the money he needed and slapped it down on the table, too hard, too loud. He struggled away from the booth.

          “Ian!” Mickey called from behind him.

          Ian looked back; Mickey was struggling to get out of the booth, but it was a tight squeeze and he was having difficulty, enough to slow him down—enough to give Ian a head start.

          He burst out onto the sunlit street, his throat working horribly. It seemed like days ago that he and Mickey had strolled down here, laughing and jibing each other. It didn’t seem like just hours ago that they had been friends—that Ian had been resigned to pining quietly until he could get himself under control. That was a whole other lifetime—a whole other Ian.

          He knew he had to get away before Mickey came out and found him. He quickly ran through potential hiding spots in his head. He wanted to be outside. He wanted to be alone.

          Ultimately he just chose the nearest alley and dove into it and started running. He wound up around the back from Honeydukes, in a small garden with flowers just starting their full bloom. He pressed his back to the building and squeezed his eyes shut, listening, but there were no sounds of pursuit, no more calls of his name. He wondered if Mickey had followed him out after all.

          His heart slowed, but his breathing came faster. He would have to go back up to the castle soon, but not yet. For now, he sucked in lungful after lungful of air, and finally let himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just so you know - i decided not to follow the bipolar storyline because a) ian's only 16 so it canonically won't hit for another year, and b) i would get crazy triggered trying to explore that in-depth. he of course will get diagnosed, but it will be post-canon and not something really explored in this story.
> 
> [hmu at my usual lair](http://bkinney.tumblr.com/post/145152324185)


	17. interlude: recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonus to having exams to cram for and to take was that he wasn’t thinking about that _thing_ that was nagging at him every free moment he had (he didn’t have a lot of them). A thing that sounded awfully like Mickey’s voice, asking, “Are you in love with me?” every time Ian thought he had caught just a small snippet of peace. When he wasn’t studying or in an exam, he was inevitably lying down somewhere, reflecting back on the beginning of the year and wondering how the fuck he had ended up here.
> 
> It was very hard trying to avoid someone that was what Mickey was to him. It hurt, too. He just didn’t want to talk about it, and it was very clear that Mickey _did_ want to talk about it.
> 
> Now he had no Mickey, and piles of work, and it didn’t seem like summer would ever come. If it did (he wasn’t convinced), he was sure it wouldn’t come peacefully. He was the type of stressed that smudged out the whole future until it was gray and clouded, looking like that stress would just stretch on forever and ever, like he could never escape it.

          Before Ian knew it, he had gone from sitting in a library chair with a host of textbooks and papers crammed under his nose to sitting in a classroom chair with just one textbook and a whole lot of notes at a time in his hands, trying desperately to cram last vestiges of information into his head before his professor called for them to put their study materials away and get ready to take the exam itself. He would have his Charms practical later in the day, but for right now he needed to focus on taking the written—and then do the same thing again later, for a different class he had the next day, and on and on for the next two weeks. Ian wasn’t entirely sure that OWLs actually had an ending, because at the start of the first Monday morning, he couldn’t quite see the light at the end of the tunnel.

          The bonus to having exams to cram for and to take was that he wasn’t thinking about that _thing_ that was nagging at him every free moment he had (he didn’t have a lot of them). A thing that sounded awfully like Mickey’s voice, asking, “Are you in love with me?” every time Ian thought he had caught just a small snippet of peace. When he wasn’t studying or in an exam, he was inevitably lying down somewhere, reflecting back on the beginning of the year and wondering how the fuck he had ended up _here_.

          Now he had no Mickey, and piles of work, and it didn’t seem like summer would ever come. If it did (he wasn’t convinced), he was sure it wouldn’t come peacefully, or pass without some kind of drama to keep him wound up. He was the type of stressed that smudged out the whole future until it was gray and clouded, looking like that stress would just stretch on forever and ever, like he could never escape it.

          “You look a little nauseous,” Mandy said on Tuesday morning. “Did you do that badly in Charms yesterday? I thought it wasn’t as bad as we expected. And we _did_ study together.”

          Ian shook his head jerkily. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened in Hogsmeade that day three weeks ago, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was also pretty sure, even though he wasn’t sure of much of anything at this point, that Mickey wouldn’t have told them either. He knew that they knew—or at least suspected—that something had happened, but he also knew that exams were as good a cover as anything else for pretending that he just didn’t have the time to see Mickey. It wasn’t about avoiding him, he reasoned, if he wasn’t in any position to sacrifice studying for playtime anyway. That’s what he told Mandy and the others, at least. It’s what he had told Mickey.

          Because Mickey _had_ tried to talk to him. He had tried the day after, when Ian had seen him when he was hanging out with Mandy in the Hufflepuff common room. Except Ian had just turned bright red and stammered himself into a semi-excuse that had given him just enough time to back his way out of there, while Mickey had looked like he was sick to his stomach, and Mandy had been watching their non-interaction with a frown and a furrowed brow. Ian had thus resolved not to show up at the Hufflepuff dorms again.

          But that didn’t entirely solve the problem, because then Ian saw him in the hallway sometimes too, and only had about two seconds to decide if he was going to make small talk and a quick escape or turn around and be rude about avoiding him, which meant admitting that he was avoiding him. He couldn’t dodge him at mealtime either, not if Mickey sat down with him—Ian just had to make sure he roped at least one other classmate into their conversation, even if he didn’t know them very well. Mickey even called him on the Protean Mirror a few times, and it was hard to reign in the instinctive reaction to reach out and answer it, and he had to remind himself sharply several times to keep himself in check. It was the only way he was getting out of this alive.

          It was just very hard trying to avoid someone that was what Mickey was to him. It hurt, too. He just didn’t want to talk about it, and it was very clear that Mickey _did_ want to talk about it.

          “Will you listen to me for one fucking minute?” he had demanded just over a week earlier, as he planted his feet firmly in Ian’s way and forced him to stop walking the way he had been down the corridor. “Your avoiding me is starting to piss me off.”

          “I’m not _avoiding_ you,” Ian had argued weakly. “I’m just—”

          “Oh, _please_.” Then his voice had turned soft, which was even worse. “Please, Ian. I just…I need to talk to you.”

          “I don’t want to _talk_!” Ian had shouted, which had been an outstandingly bad idea because they were in the middle of the corridor and several people had been around to stop and stare. “I don’t want to fucking talk about it! Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

          “Ian—”

          “ _No_! I don’t want…I don’t want things to be the way they are! Not with me! Not about you! You want to talk about it? Well guess what I want? I want you to forget about it, because _I want to forget about it_. I wish it wasn’t fucking true. So just _leave me alone_.”

          He had then tried to shove past him and storm off, but Mickey had grabbed his arm, forcing him to spin around and face him again. Ian tried to tug his arm free, but Mickey had held tight, his fingertips curling into Ian’s bicep until it hurt.

          “ _Ian_.”

          Ian had stopped struggling and sighed, reluctantly raising his eyes to Mickey’s. It hurt, kind of, just to make that little bit of eye contact, but he guessed he kind of owed it to him.

          “What?”

          “I just…” Mickey had sighed and run his hand through his hair, disheveling it more than it was—which Ian distinctly remembered noting as strange at the time, because it wasn’t his usual carefully-disheveled look. It was just messy, like he wasn’t sleeping or something and couldn’t be fucked to pretend otherwise.

          Ian hadn’t needed him to finish the sentence. He had laid his hand gently on Mickey’s arm, and Mickey had looked at him, kind of droopy and sad, but resigned too. Mickey released his arm.

          “I want to be friends,” Ian had told him, as gently as he knew how. “I do. And we _are_. I…We always will be. You and me...It’s not something that just goes away, you know? But I just think…” He’d sighed. “I just need some time, okay? I need time to work through all this. I don’t think I can be…normal around you yet. And I really want to be.”

          Mickey hadn’t said anything. Ian had looked away, then dropped his hands from Mickey altogether.

          “I just want things to go back to how they used to be,” Ian had said, and he noticed how it sounded so, so distant, even as he’d said it. He’d forcibly turned his stare from the wall to Mickey’s face, but Mickey just looked…hurt. Ian guessed he didn’t want to hear that Ian needed _time_ , because Mickey was very much a _now_ kind of person, someone who just forced things to be normal until they actually were again. But Ian wasn’t like that. Then, smaller, he had asked, “Is that okay?”

          Mickey had looked down and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his robes. “That’s okay,” he’d said eventually.

          Ian had nodded. Then he had said a soft goodbye and wended his way around Mickey, down the corridor in the direction he had been going. He hadn’t turned around, but Mickey didn’t come after him.

          He guessed that was still where they stood—on some strange hiatus, their footing uneven and waiting to either catch balance or fall off the precipice. He stomach felt sour every time he thought about it, about how he was just as likely to splatter as he was to right his wrongs. He supposed he had to do it soon. It was just so much _easier_ to focus on exams and push and push back his problems than it was to just face them once and for all.

          Mandy was talking to him now, and Ian blinked himself back to awareness, enough to catch up on what she was saying.

          “I’ve been wondering…” She paused and breathed deeply for a long moment. Ian could tell that it wasn’t the type of pause to interrupt, and he waited. Finally she asked, “Were you serious?”

          She sounded quieter now, less sure of herself—Ian looked up from his breakfast to pay extra close attention to her, because Mandy very rarely sounded like this, and especially not if she could help it. Strong, steady Mandy Milkovich. Ian felt a surge of love for her unrivaled by how he felt about any of his other friends. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Mandy really was his best friend in the world. He and Mickey were something else entirely, something on a different plane of existence, with a word that didn’t exist to describe all the things they were to each other—but him and Mandy, that was something he knew he wanted to describe as “soulmates,” if he could.

          “Was I serious about what?” he asked.

          She blew out so that her bangs ruffled with the miniature breeze she had created. She dug her fork into her scrambled eggs, pushing them around the plate.

          “About, you know…Me living with you this summer.” She hesitated, then added, “I thought you weren’t allowed to have friends stay over. That was the whole point of…”

          She waved her hand in the air in a gesture that Ian took to mean “The Mickey Situation,” which was about as graphic a description as his brain was willing to concede.

          “It was,” Ian said, trying for lightness to balance out her careful tiptoeing. “I was. I mean, I wasn’t. But you know, Lip’s graduating too. He’s looking for a place with a couple of his friends, so there’ll be extra room…You might have to like, help pay for some stuff—not to shake you down or anything. But yeah. We could probably convince Fiona to give you his old bed, especially if you’re chipping into the squirrel fund like, for real.”

          Mandy glanced sideways at him. Her mouth pulled up at one corner. She still sounded kind of small when she said, “Yeah?”

          Ian wanted to love her for the rest of his life.

          “Yeah,” he said.

          For just a second, a wide and beautiful smile splintered through her tough-girl shtick. Then she composed herself and nodded fiercely, but Ian could still see her elation creeping through the cracks in it. He grinned at her.

          “Come on,” she said, suddenly all brusqueness and business, “We have two hours before our Transfiguration written exam, and I _know_ I’m not good enough on Switching Spells.”

          She grabbed his wrist and practically pulled him out of his chair. Ian was laughing the whole time he was tripping after her out of the hall, and it felt good, like something he hadn’t had in a far too long a time.

 

          His Transfiguration exams, both written and practical, went fairly well, he thought. He spent the next three days in a litany cycle of studying and exam-taking, and it was all very boring and stressful at the same time, but it at least made the week pass by somewhat faster than it usually did when he was just going to classes.

          He finally woke up on Saturday morning with somewhat-settled nerves, knowing he only had a couple of exams left, and that they were next week and he could at least take the morning off from all the stress and trouble.

          It was this thought that had him take a very leisurely breakfast, and that leisurely breakfast that found him nose-to-nose with Simon Sullivan, glaring hard as he leaned across the table to get in Ian’s face.

          “You’ve been avoiding me,” he accused, while Ian backed up, startled. “I thought you were just busy for the past couple weeks, because we’ve _all_ been busy. But you’ve been avoiding me. Haven’t you?”

          Ian swallowed. At length, he managed a somewhat strangled, “Wanna sit?”

          Sully sat, very hard and with his arms crossed over his chest. Ian did not much like getting glared at by Sully. It seemed such an unnatural expression on him.

          “Want breakfast?”

          “Stop it,” Sully snapped, slapping his hand down on the table. “Talk to me. What did I _do_?”

          The implied, _why are you being such a bitch?_ was evident there, but Ian was thankful that Sully was apparently too nice to say it out loud. It still stung to hear between the lines though, even if it was fair. It was just annoying, because Ian was still _mad_ , but he felt kind of bad about it too. It was like he couldn’t feel anything anymore without feeling guilty on top of it, which was just about the most frustrating thing ever.

          To save a bit of face, Ian leveled him with the best glare he could, and said as flatly as he could manage, “You told Mickey.”

          Sully stared at him for several long beats of silence. Then he scrunched his brow up and said, “I told Mickey _what_?”

          Ian wanted to groan. Either he told Sully everything and risked sounding like the biggest dumbass on the planet, or he—what? Was a complete asshole to one of his best friends for apparently no reason?

          Ian really did groan.

          “I have to tell you something,” he said.

          Sully wore this strange look of intermingled horror, fascination, and complete bafflement the whole time that Ian was talking. And Ian told him everything—he gave him the rundown of the whole long mess, starting from their decision to fake it, right up to his current disaster of a situation, wherein Mickey _knew_ and Ian really, really didn’t want to talk about it.

          At last, there was silence. Silence and Sully’s big gaping mouth.

          “You…” He struggled visibly with what to say before settling on, “You _idiot_.”

          Ian straightened, blinking at him. “I’m…what? Is that all you want to say?”

          “You total idiot!” Sully reiterated. “Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?”

          “I met you after!” Ian said, flailing his hands in a nonsense pattern as though that would at all help him explain his reasoning. “I didn’t think—”

          “No, you didn’t,” Sully chided. “God, Ian, I am so _sorry_. I never would have said shit about you being in love with him if I’d thought that you weren’t _supposed_ to be! I just figured—”

          “Don’t be sorry,” Ian said abruptly, surprising himself. He had wanted Sully’s apology, before, but now that he had it, he didn’t actually need it. It hadn’t been Sully’s fault any more than any of this had been his, or Mickey’s. It was just a bad situation that they all got stuck in. “It’s not fair of me to…be mad. You thought you were being supportive.”  
          “In my defense, you play the boyfriend part _really_ well.”

          “It helps if you want to _be_ the boyfriend,” Ian snorted.

          Sully just looked at him for a second. Then they both busted up laughing.

          “Oh, I am _so_ sorry I’ve been an asshole,” Ian said, pressing his hands into his eyes because he couldn’t stop laughing and they were starting to tear up a little. “Jesus.”

          “I thought it was just exams and shit, getting to you,” said Sully. He reached over the table to slug Ian in the shoulder. “You know something? You are _shit_ at talking things out. I _missed_ you, man.”

          “Me too,” said Ian, “Shit. Tell me everything I’ve missed. Feel free to leave out all the good stuff that I totally don’t deserve to have.”

          For a second, Sully just eyed him a little, and Ian didn’t think he was going to say anything—he thought maybe he wasn’t as completely forgiven as he had thought. But then Sully snorted and leaned forwards over the table, getting all close like he had something secret to say, and he raised his eyebrows tantalizingly at Ian.

          “So you heard what happened to Emily Camp during her Potions final, right?”

          And that was the end of that.

 

\- - -

 

          It turned out that reconciling with Sully eased a lot of his burdens that he didn’t even realize were directly connected. Possibly in light of their reunited friendship, Savannah (likely on Sully’s behalf) took to inviting Ian over to study with them in the library or their common room, usually with Mandy also invited along so they each had a study partner focusing on the same material and classes. Karen was busy studying for NEWTs with a group of seventh years she had accrued for the cause, and Sully must have been forthcoming with Ian’s admission—or else he was just unbelievably lucky, which he had never been before and had no reason to believe he might be now—because Savannah mercifully never invited Mickey to come study with them. Ian mollified himself somewhat that even if he was forming a new group within their group that didn’t involve Mickey, it was likely that he had NEWTs to study for anyway. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself of that though, the thought did little to compensate for how he knew he was playing the evil opponent in social politics right now. He chalked it up to the long list of things he was doing wrong lately and tried to forget about it, because he wasn’t ready to get over it.

          He trudged out of an Astronomy practical at one in the morning on Wednesday—Thursday, technically—when he had just a couple more days of exams to go. He slouched against the wall at the base of the tower stairs and waited for Mandy to appear. She did about fifteen minutes later, not saying a word as she linked her arm through Ian’s as she passed and kept on walking, dragging him with her until he caught his footing.

          “I’m exhausted,” she declared. “Can we get hammered yet?”

          “Two more days,” Ian said grimly. “As soon as we get out of our last exam. Are you done at three?”

          “One, I think,” said Mandy. “I’ll make sure to save you some of the vodka though.”

          Ian huffed what might have been a laugh if he wasn’t so exhausted.

          “Bitch,” he said.

          “Soon to be drunk bitch,” Mandy corrected archly.

          She was clearly as tired as him, as she ceased her teasing then, and as she leaned on him more and more while they made their way down the stairs from the Astronomy Tower. They hadn’t discussed where they were going, but their feet walked in the same direction, pounding to the same unheard beat. They passed the hallway that would lead to the Hufflepuff basement and although Ian assumed they would be heading to the Slytherin dormitory instead, he made no protest when Mandy passed by that doorway as well. He just followed alongside her in peaceful quiet as she led him towards the doors to the outside. The night was warmer than it was up in the tower, less altered by wind down here on the ground; Mandy undid a few buttons on her robes to let more of the summer air on her skin.

          They found a dark patch on the grounds, far from the chilly air down by the lake but unlit by any castle windows. The night was beautiful and silent. Here or there a laugh echoed out from the castle, or Ian thought he could hear somebody still taking their exam up in the Astronomy Tower. It was past lights out, but Ian had his suspicions that even if anyone were to find them in their dark spot—the only ones out on the grounds—he knew they would likely be allowed some leeway, almost done with OWL exams and with the year drawing to a close. Things felt too serene for worry, for a lecture. He closed his eyes and breathed in summer.

          “We’re almost free,” murmured Mandy, hand in hand with his train of thought.

          Ian peeked an eye open to glance at her. She laid identical to him, hands splayed out, body stretched on the grass, eyes closed as she faced the inky sky. Ian closed his eyes again.

          “Mmm,” he agreed.

          “We have the whole summer ahead of us,” Mandy went on. She sounded drifty, but not distant. Really happy, in an easy way. Ian smiled impulsively.

          “I’m gonna get a tattoo,” Ian said, because he could say anything out here with her.

          A laugh bubbled up from her. “Why?”

          Ian shrugged. “Because it’s summer and I can,” he said, even though he probably wouldn’t. “What are you gonna do?”

          Mandy shifted a little on the grass; he could hear it rustling against her robes. Her splayed hair tickled his neck, but he didn’t flinch away from it.

          “First thing I’m gonna do is go to that concert with you,” she said. “But I guess that’s this weekend, and not before school lets out.”

          Ian laughed. “I know. I’ve only been looking forward to it since fucking November.”

          “Bitch, me too. It’s gonna be so awesome,” Mandy said happily. She didn’t sound any different, but Ian could hear how she hesitated, before she said, “It will take your mind off things maybe, too.”

          Ian bit his lip. “Maybe,” he hedged.

          “Oh, come on,” Mandy sighed.

          He felt her moving around, and he opened his eyes to see that she had flipped onto her stomach and was watching him imperiously. Her hair swung down over her face, and her eyeliner was smudged from a long day, and her nose ring shown strangely in the moonlight, and she looked otherworldly in a good way. Ian knew she could do anything she wanted, and right now she wanted him to feel better, so he did.

          “It will,” Ian said decisively, and he was a little surprised that it was so easy, but Mandy split into a wide smile like it had been so obvious all along.

          She flopped back onto her back and they settled like that, peaceful and warm underneath the stars, and they didn’t move until the lethargy started to seep so deeply that they feared they might really fall asleep out here. Then they trudged back up to the castle together, and Ian felt—for the first time in awhile—that things could be okay after all, even if they didn’t turn out how he wanted, at first.

 

\- - -

 

          The end of exams was a weight off of Ian’s shoulders that had bogged him relentlessly through the last fortnight. The train was coming for them all that Monday—OWLs and NEWTs went on a week longer than regular exams, and the weekend gave the fifth and seventh years the time to pack and prepare for their exit that the other years had all had the past week to do.

          Ian did get drunk with Mandy the Friday before that weekend, beelining for the Hufflepuff dorms as soon as his last exam let out, but Mandy was already in the entrance hall waiting for him. Karen was with her, sitting at the foot of the Gryffindor hourglass and sipping from a bottle that Ian was sure didn’t contain water.

          “Hey!” Mandy said, jumping up when she saw him. She extended her arms outwards. She also wobbled a little on her feet, so Ian quickly enfolded her in a hug to hide her obvious inebriation from the students milling around them.

          “You started early,” he accused, lowly in her ear.

          “I told you I would,” she said. She shoved him back playfully, then extended the bottle towards him. “Want some?”

          He took the bottle and swallowed down a few good gulps; Karen gave a low whistle. Ian tried hard to keep a straight face as he put the bottle down, but he grimaced into his sleeve as he wiped it across his chin. He held onto the vodka, swinging it from one hand as he fist-bumped Karen in greeting with the other. They all started off for the grounds. Mandy and Karen were holding hands, which was above their usual ban on PDA, but Ian guessed they were high on the approaching summer too.

          They spread out on a patch of grass near the water. Mandy had changed into Muggle clothes, because they exposed more skin in her shorts and the t-shirt she had tied around her ribs to leave her stomach bare for the sun to bake. Ian lay out beside her, propped up on his elbows to watch Karen fold the ends of her jeans up so she could stick her ankles in the water.

          “I’m jealous,” said Ian, tugging on the collar of his robes. “I’m burning up in this.”

          “Go change,” said Mandy absently.

          She didn’t look at him, too busy pulling off an effortless tanning position, complete with her eyes closed. Ian knew nothing would get her to leave this position now that she had entered it; he snorted and got up to go join Karen by the water’s edge. Ignoring his robes completely, Ian dunked his legs in as well.

          “So,” he said, bumping Karen in the shoulder with his own, “how’s it feel to be a Hogwarts grad?”

          Karen scoffed.

          “Scary,” she admitted. “I have to go be a real person now, in the _real world_. What the fuck am I gonna do?”

          Ian shrugged. “Move in with Lip?” he suggested, earning a hard shove in the arm while he laughed. “Come on, he’s getting his own place! Why can’t you?”

          “Small blessings,” said Karen. In a lowered voice, she added, “Frees up a room for Mandy.”

          They both glanced over their shoulder. Mandy did not seem to have heard though, and with relief they turned back to one another.

          “Mickey should have just housed her,” said Ian, feeling only slightly bad for talking about her like she was something that needed _doing with_ —as long as it got her out of her father’s house, Ian would do just about anything.

          “Have you seen the places he’s scouting?” said Karen, rolling her eyes. Then she faltered. “Oh…I guess you haven’t. Well, they’re all really small—the bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen are basically the same thing. _He_ could barely fit in one. It’s insane.”

          “He’s really thinking of living somewhere like that?” Ian asked.

          Karen shrugged, kicking her feet a little beneath the water’s surface. “It’s all he can afford.”

          “ _Why_ ,” came a voice from behind them, and Ian’s heart stopped, “Are you making me out to be some sad asshole hoping to be saved by Prince fucking Charming?”

          Ian said, “Mickey,” all out on a breath. He hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever. He looked disheveled and tired from exams, grey circles under his eyes and his hair messier than ever, looking like he was in serious need of food and sleep. Ian’s heart beat like it had never been more in love with him.

          Karen grinned with all her teeth and said, “Because you _are_ a sad asshole,” and Mickey tackled her sideways. They rolled around on the grass, each threatening to drown the other every time they got too close to the edge of the lake.

          When they were done, they sat up, bright-eyed and red-cheeked, their hair messy and frizzed between the fight and the heat. They both stuck their feet in the water, even though Mickey was wearing robes and shoes.

          “How were the rest of your exams?” Karen asked, sounding a little breathless. She brushed her hair out of her face where it had fallen out of her ponytail in the scuffle.

          “I didn’t fail,” Mickey offered. He snorted a little laugh. “How about you?”

          Karen made a wishy-washy motion with her hand. “I’m hoping for Es,” she said.

          Mickey nodded. Then, in a move that seemed casual but which Ian recognized as very calculated, Mickey leaned around Karen to where Ian was squinting across the lake pretending not to listen, and said, “How were your OWLs, Ian?”

          Something about the way he said Ian’s name sounded strangely intimate just then. It was strange, because he said his name often—but there, Ian felt he might have otherwise said _kid_ or _man_ or _dude_ , and the lack of a nickname meant something, even if he didn’t know what. Either Mickey still cared and wanted him to know it, or they had fallen deeper apart than Ian had anticipated. He had a sinking feeling he knew which one was the answer.

          “Good,” he said, managing to not even sound choked up like he felt, which he thought a tremendous victory. “I mean, _good_ is a strong word, but—I think they were okay.”

          “You’ve been studying basically nonstop,” said Karen offhandedly.

          Ian shrugged jerkily. “Yeah.”

          Then it was over, and they started talking about summer plans. Ian’s heart was beating fast: He didn’t want to be here, however he had gotten here, to end up half a stranger to the boy he loved. He wanted to…work on it. That was strange too, but once he’d had the thought, he really, _really_ wanted it.

          So when Mandy sat up from her sunbathing and said, “Me and Ian have that concert tomorrow. I wish you guys could come,” with a grimace on her face, Ian didn’t think at all before he said, “You guys should.”

          They all looked at him. Mickey said, “What?” and Karen said, “I don’t even like the Fanged Kneazles.”

          Ian hesitated, but he was already too far in.

          “Yeah,” he said, trying to make his shrug look casual but well aware he missed by miles. “Why not?”

          “Because we don’t have tickets…” Karen said slowly.

          “So? They’re probably selling at the door,” said Mandy, sounding kind of excited now, so Ian didn’t feel as bad for crashing their plans. “I mean, it might cost a bit more…but they’re sort of indie, so it should still be pretty cheap.”

          “I…” Karen looked at Mandy, then at Mickey. Then she turned to Ian, blinked, and looked back at Mickey. “Okay.”

          Mickey raised his eyebrows at her. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds cool.”

          Mandy clasped her hands together. “Yes! One last blowout before summer starts.”

          “We should invite Sully and Savannah,” said Karen.

          “Of course,” said Ian.

          They all looked at Mickey, who, upon noticing this, startled.

          “Obviously, I’m game with that,” said Mickey.

          Mandy scrambled onto her knees and shuffled over to Karen. She threw her arms around her neck and leaned over her shoulder to press a kiss to her cheek.

          “Yes!” she said. “This is going to be so much fun!”

          Karen laughed and squeezed one of Mandy’s arms. Mickey grinned at the two of them, all lazy and slow and kind of like when he was high, but way clearer and so obviously happy to be sitting there with them all.

          Ian had to admit, he liked it too. The four of them, back together again—just friends all hanging out the way they used to. Ian stepped back from himself to truly soak in the moment. He wanted to remember it forever. Just in case.

          Karen was laughing at something Mandy had said. Mandy was nuzzling her nose into Karen’s cheek. Mickey was still wearing that high-but-not-high look. Something squeezed at Ian’s chest, then released it all at once. He felt it like a balloon deflating of air, but it felt good, right, for the first time in a long time.

          He took a deep breath and prayed to all hell it would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, self-peace. my favorite thing for ian gallagher to have.
> 
> anyway, you may have noticed the chapter count's gone down, as i feared it might. tune in next monday (one more week!! wow) for the finale + epilogue :')) it's been wild, y'all.
> 
>  
> 
> [xoxox](http://bkinney.tumblr.com/post/145506472200)


	18. the concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not quiet, not at all. But Ian’s head was, for once. It had gone still and silent. He was not tired, but he felt distinctly like he could finally sleep. He had gotten the thing he had been needing for so long, and now he had been granted the ability to rest after so long fighting his way towards it. Parts of him already were resting, relaxing as they hadn’t been allowed in so long; his long-aching heart, for one, had returned to its usual beat, and it didn’t hurt anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The back half of this chapter (ha _ha_ ) is dedicated to [Rocio](http://nuevayor.tumblr.com/), because she’s a Slut For Smut™.

          For the first time in a month, Ian woke up on Saturday morning with a light heart and a clear head.

          Maybe it was the end of exams, or maybe it was that moment down by the lake yesterday (a moment which had stretched into two into three into a whole afternoon) but Ian didn’t feel stressed or worried or you-think-you-should-be-alerting-some-authorities? like he had felt for what seemed like forever. He had his friends, and his last weekend before summer, and at that moment it felt like that could go on forever just like the dark cloud of the past month had. Sully and Savannah had agreed excitedly to attend the concert, and Ian hadn’t felt this good in a _long_ time. Again he was hit with the thought that he could find happiness in this, even if it wasn’t all how he had expected it to be, or even how he had wanted it originally. This could be enough, too.

          The day was warm, and Ian found half of his friends crowded together at the Slytherin lunch table after he spent the morning sleeping in and doing nothing, before finally rolling out of bed at past noon. The rest of them followed after Ian had sat down, and soon it was the six of them, laughing and eating together and feeling like they owned the world for no reason at all.

          “Come get ready with me this afternoon,” Mandy implored of him, sometime when neither she nor he was swept up in a different conversation. She stretched her hand out towards him over the table, and he gripped it tightly. “Just you and me. We’ll find something…dangerous to wear.”

          “Dangerous?” Ian echoed, laughing a little. “Okay.”

          “Who am I going to get ready with then?” Karen demanded.

          “Me, obviously,” Savannah said with a sunny smile. She looped her arm through Karen’s. “We can boss Sully and Mickey around all we want.”

          “Okay.” Karen brightened quickly, even with Mickey shooting _what the fuck just happened?_ looks to Sully beside him.

          Ian grinned at Mickey.

          “Sorry,” he said glibly. “Looks like you drew the short straw.”

          “He’s right,” Mandy said in mock lament. “Me and Ian are gonna have _fun_.”

          They all went out to the lake after lunch, where Mandy and Mickey entertained them all dueling lazily or shooting random sparks into the air. Ian was reminded how nice it was to just hang out with them all; it didn’t feel like he and Mickey were fifth and sixth wheeling, they were just all there together, a conglomerate mess where nobody was a couple and everyone was friends—or most of them were in couples but everybody was friends anyway.

          Ian looked up from the game he was playing with Karen that involved a lot of slapping each other’s hands and yelling, which he was sure she had made up because she kept winning. Mickey was sitting cross-legged talking to Sully about something, but he caught Ian’s eye over his shoulder and grinned. Ian smiled back.

          “You’re not over him,” he heard Karen say, and he promptly refocused on her.

          “What?” he said, although he had heard her perfectly clearly.

          She sounded a little sad for him. “I’m proud of you, Ian,” she said softly—softer than she normally was. Ian was at once disturbed and mollified. “I know this can’t be easy, being with him and all of us like this. It’s good that you’re doing so good with this. I’m happy for you.”

          Ian wanted to break the tension by making a snarky comment or something, but he felt this was the wrong moment for it. Instead he managed a crooked smile.

          “Thanks,” he said quietly, glancing down for a second before meeting her eyes again. “I want to be friends with him again. I think I’m ready for that.”

          “Are you?” she asked, surprised. She slapped his hands again; he scowled and shook them out before placing them back in position for another round. Karen searched his face, and seemed to approve of what she found. Her smile was gentle. “Good.”

          “It is good,” Ian said, and was surprised himself with the conviction in it, but he meant it. “I feel good. Maybe for the first time in awhile.”

          “You deserve to be happy, Ian,” she said earnestly. “I know Mickey makes you happy. And if he can’t give you that in a lover, you deserve it in a friend.”

          He looked down again. He could only manage it in a whisper when he said, “Thanks.”

          Karen slapped his hands again, hard. She smiled a touch dangerously and said, “You’re welcome,” and Ian was relieved all at once. It was over without having to talk about it being over, and he knew they would likely not reference it again. It was in times like this that he appreciated having Karen as a friend far more than he usually let her know. But then she caught his eye while they moved on to talking about their oncoming night, and she smirked at him, and Ian knew that she knew anyway.

          Around dinnertime, Mandy announced that she wanted to start getting ready, so Ian abandoned the others with her with a small wave and a mutual promise to see them all again in a couple of hours. Karen said she would be up in a couple of minutes to grab any necessities that she had in her room so that they could all get ready in the Hufflepuff dorms, and Mandy kissed her goodbye, and then her and Ian made their way back up to the castle together.

          The Slytherin common room was sparse; everyone was enjoying the end of exams paired with the oncoming summer and the rush of good weather finally mixed with freedom, a combination that had been eluding the castle in full for some time now. Ian’s dormitory was properly empty. Mandy breathed in deep as soon as she entered it.

          “Smells like we’re about to get ourselves into trouble,” she said. Ian cracked up.

          Mandy went all out for the concert, donning Muggle clothes so that she could wear her ripped jeans and these fingerless gloves that Ian didn’t really get but that she insisted were cool. She made him try on a bunch of different hats before agreeing that he could go without, after he told her that it made him look like a straight boy and she agreed that that was offensive to his image. In the end she agreed with his tight dark jeans and a t-shirt he had cut the sleeves off of, and they had time to run down for a quick dinner before they had to meet the others in the Astronomy professor’s office, as Sully had assured them that she would be gone all night so they could use her Floo both ways as long as they were careful; the professors’ Floos weren’t as regulated as the other fireplaces, so nothing would seem too off if they used it to get to the city.

          The Leaky Cauldron was crowded at this time of night, which had its ups and downs. For one, there were plenty of people about to notice them appearing suddenly out of the fireplace, but everyone—even Tom the barkeep—was already drunk by seven pm, probably because it was Saturday or maybe because summer was so close, so they didn’t have to worry about anyone throwing too many questions at the group of punk-dressed teenagers coming out of thin air and scurrying towards the exit before they saw anyone who might recognize them.

          They made it out onto the street with no trouble but plenty of anxiety, and then they were in the clear. Ian gave a quick shout, which was quickly echoed through the group as they dissolved into hugs and cheers and pumping their fists into the air, rushed through with adrenaline from their escape of campus and from the night that they had still ahead of them.

          Ian felt like part of a swarm as they wound their way through the people milling about the sidewalks—Muggles and wizards alike, all unaware that they were six kids who shouldn’t be out of school, six kids dressed up like Muggles the way Muggles dressed up like them for Halloween—laughing and drinking the flasks that Karen and Savannah had brought. Some of them had their arms linked together, as Ian discovered when he looked sideways to say something to Mandy and found her otherwise occupied with both her elbows commandeered. The very night felt alive, buzzing red and electric all across his skin, making his heart beat faster.

          The stadium was hidden away, visible only to magical folk; Ian could feel the anti-Muggle forcefield that pulsated out of the entire arena, the spell like a living thing all around them. They got through without trouble, of course, but now Ian felt like he was in on an even bigger secret than before. Before it was him and his five best friends, sneaking out together—now it was him and five thousand people, screaming and jumping and invisible to the world, a night faded away but for all of them together.

          True to Mandy’s word, the others were allowed to buy tickets at the door. Ian and Mandy presented the ones they already had and were waved on through, but they waited for the others to join them before they stood to the side of the stairs that would lead them down to the big center where everyone was standing, waiting for the opening act.

          “How far in do you want to go?” Karen asked, squinting down into the already sizeable crowd.

          “Close to the front,” said Mandy immediately.

          “Not so close we get trampled so these fucktwats can get to the gates,” said Karen.

          “No,” Mickey agreed. He pointed off to the left. “Over there. That way we’re close to the bathrooms and to the reentry point in case any of us wanna go out for a smoke or something.”

          There was a general murmur of assent from the rest, so without further contemplation, they all grabbed some part of one another and plunged into the crowd.

          Ian was glad he had a firm grip on Mandy’s (homemade) crop top, because he was almost immediately buffeted by the crowd and nearly lost them all anyway. They managed to stick together until they got to roughly the spot they had wanted—though it was harder to tell down here in the thick of things than it had been from the high vantage point of the steps—and formed a small circle, facing out and away from each other. Karen said it would help make sure no one infiltrated their area until after the lights went down. She also tried to make them all link elbows for extra precaution, but then Mickey threatened to deck whoever tried to touch him, and everyone else vetoed the idea too, so she quickly dropped it.

          They only had to wait about twenty minutes before the lights went down and the opening act came out. After that they didn’t have to fight so hard to keep their spots, although there was occasionally someone who was either drunk or aggressive or just stupid who didn’t realize they were all together and tried to push their way into their little space, only to be quickly rebuffed. They were a hard group to ignore.

          The opening act was only okay. It was when the lights went down on their exit and the air suddenly turned just that little bit electric that they all turned and looked to one another, buzzing with excitement. Ian could feel it in his very skin. The whole crowd was burning up in the same way, itching for that feeling of release, able to feel that the moment was so close—when the lights would flash and the band they had all come here to see would come on and it would be easy, then, to get lost in their roiling blood and their screaming mouths and the stomp of their heavy, heavy feet.

          Nothing happened. Nothing happened for so long that the buzz died down a little bit and people started milling around more, the cacophony of five thousand people talking rising up and reverting through the stadium, like Ian was in a room where everyone was clamoring for his attention at once.

          Then they heard, like a godlike clap of thunder that was more than any of them, more than all of them—

          “Who is ready for the Fanged Kneazles?”

          It was a war cry more than a question. The crowd answered it with its very own.

          Before Ian knew it, half of his friends were shouting in his face; the other half were just shouting. Karen was stomping her feet as hard as she could on the worn grass floor, and Mickey was grinning at Ian like he was half-taking it all as a joke, but Ian could tell he was enjoying himself. It was hard not to. Even for someone who was as cynical and determined as Mickey to never fully let go with anything, ever. Concerts were like war zones: The outside world was more fiction than reality.

          The first chords were like a zap directly to Ian’s heart. He could feel the bass in his feet, and it didn’t hurt that every single person here was a wizard, so the band could pretty much do whatever they wanted for special effects. They had a fog machine that spelled out words and song titles and band member names in the smoke; they had cannons that shot sparks and confetti up into the air that stayed up for far too long, hanging suspended over the stadium as it changed color and performed various other feats before swirling to the ground. The magic and music of the place filled Ian up to his very core, and he could tell that it was having the same effect on everybody else around him as well.

          Mickey was next to him for most of it—sometime between the second and third song their positions all changed. Ian guessed Mandy and Karen wanted to be near each other, and so did Sully and Savannah. The latter couple kept half-grinding up on each other, even though it wasn’t that kind of show; Ian guessed they were both pretty drunk off of the flask they had all shared. Mandy and Karen were holding their joined hands above their heads and shouting nonsense in between song lyrics, jumping and still stomping their feet and occasionally leaning in to kiss one another when Ian guessed their heartbeats just got too loud in their head, telling them to do it, and they couldn’t ignore it. He could feel that same sort of energy thrumming through him, but it was harder when he didn’t have a release. He just grinned at Mickey and sang along and tried to burn it out in other ways as he lost himself in singing and screaming, thrilled with the knowledge that he probably wouldn’t have a voice in the morning.

          They got through almost half a set like this. Ian both knew it was coming and didn’t, because he didn’t know when it would be, but then he and Mandy glanced at each other and they both just—knew. He saw her grip on Karen’s hand get a little bit tighter as the echoes from the last song fizzled out.

          “Alright,” said the band’s lead singer in a low, slow voice directly into the mic. Ian guessed it was supposed to sound sultry or something, but he didn’t pull it off that well because he was the lead in a semi-indie punk band. “Everybody grab someone you love…We’re turning things down a notch.”

          Those familiar feelings of panic that had so plagued him the past few weeks, that he had thought he was _rid_ of, slid deep and fast back into his gut. It was just seeing Mandy and Karen pull each other a little bit closer, watching Sully wrap his hand around Savannah’s, seeing the way they all _looked_ at each other. Their love was so obvious, Ian could practically feel their hearts pounding like they were his own. He swallowed hard, turned up his chin, and looked back at the stage. One song. He only had to do this for one song, and then things could go back to the way he had been enjoying for the past two days.

          The first few notes plucked to life on the stage. Something acoustic; Ian wasn’t familiar with a lot of their acoustic versions, though he would know it once the lyrics started, especially because they didn’t have a ton of slow songs on their album. Then, just as clearly as his heart was beating in his chest, he felt fingers tentatively brush along his own.

          It wasn’t something he could have been mistaken about; they were _there_ , alongside his, and then threading through them. The touch was careful and slow and measured. Once they were twined through his, Ian looked up at Mickey, wide-eyed.

          Mickey squeezed his hand. Ian squeezed back. Then he said,

          “What are you doing?”

          Mickey looked—sort of nervous. Ian supposed that was the word for it, even though he didn’t like it; it wasn’t the sort of word that anyone applied to Mickey Milkovich, not ever.

          “I have to tell you something,” Mickey said in a rush.

          The guitar in the song was ramping up now. Ian still didn’t know what song it was. Now he was too busy focusing on other things to listen to the words long enough to figure it out—things like how Mickey looked with the light show playing off all the shadows on his face, how he was biting down so hard on his lip, how he was squeezing Ian’s hand in his own. He looked just like the Mickey Ian had always known, but now there were shades of other things behind his usual deportment, and Ian didn’t know how to read those faces as well. Something had shifted, but Ian couldn’t figure out what.

          Ian’s heart pounded with the drums, in a _one-two one-two_ that was just a little bit off rhythm, sending his pulse racing off-kilter fast. He blinked, swallowed. Mickey hadn’t taken his eyes off him. Nobody else seemed to have noticed anything; their friends danced and sang out around them, and Ian was frozen, and Mickey’s hand was in his. He felt like the crowd should have stopped. Someone should have shouted out to them. The band should have invented an entire song dedicated to them, just them, in this moment.

          But nothing happened. The earth didn’t shatter. Time didn’t stop. The world spun on, and the song dragged on, and Ian’s heart stuttered a _rat-a-tat_ in his chest like it had no idea what it was supposed to be doing any more than Ian did.

          Their eyes held for two seconds. Three. Then he blinked and Mickey’s mouth was on his, his hand curled around his neck, his fingers digging into his hair in the back. It was all so sudden—one second he was just Ian, and then he was an Ian who had his best friend and the love of his fucking life kissing him like the universe would fall apart if he stopped, scratching at his hair in the best way, biting at his lip and then pressing softer, gentler kisses to the same spot to soothe the slight ache.

          Ian startled all at once, and all the blood in his body tried to rush in two different directions at once—half to his face, and half way down south from there. He barely had time to kiss back before Mickey pulled away.

          He knew their friends were staring now. His attention was fixed elsewhere. Mickey had that wild look he sometimes got when the urge to run was flooding him, but his hand was held fast and Ian wasn’t letting him go _anywhere_. Not until he explained himself. Not until things started to make _sense_. The thought that there was a piece of this he wasn’t getting, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up because this was something else and it meant something other than what he was thinking, would not leave him alone. His heart was starting to hurt again, just a little bit at the edges of all his hope.

          “Wha—What…?”

          Words were not coming to him now. Ian wanted to curse himself except he couldn’t make his mouth work. What was he supposed to say now?

          “What was _that_?” he managed.  The anger was rising faster now. “Mickey, I _told_ you—I can’t _do_ this, I _told_ you, it can’t be like before. I know—I know things used to be like this, and that was fine then, but now you _know_ how I feel, and I—”

          “I don’t want it to be like before,” Mickey interrupted him in a rush. He rubbed his free hand over his face, the one Ian hadn’t commandeered and not yet let go of. “Fuck, I don’t…I don’t even know what you mean by ‘before.’ I just know— _Ian_ , Ian, I want…” He swallowed. Ian watched the line of his throat work around the words he was trying to say. But he was Mickey, and they did not come easily. “I want this too.”

          And, well, Ian didn’t know what to say to that. He just had to be sure.

          “Want what too?”

          He sounded guarded, much more guarded than he would have liked. He wanted to share the look that Mickey was wearing—like he felt finally _free_ —but he couldn’t, not until he was sure. He had to be sure, or his doubts would never leave him alone. And he had a lot of doubts.

          Mickey said, “Fuck, you idiot,” and then he was kissing him again. It was messy and imperfect and Ian couldn’t breathe. It only lasted a couple of seconds this time before Mickey pulled away, but now he stayed close. His fingers had found their way back into Ian’s hair, and he rubbed them, slow and soothing, into the spot beneath where they rested. His forehead was leaned against Ian’s, and his eyes were shut. Ian watched him, so peaceful-looking, but he was holding his breath. He couldn’t be so serene; there were so many things he needed to say, and an infinite amount that they needed to work out.

          “Mickey—” he said again, when Mickey did not break their silence.

          Mickey shushed him quietly.

          “Me too, Ian. Okay?” He sounded croaky, almost not like himself. But he was here, pressed up against Ian, wrapped up in his arms. He was here. Even with his quiet voice, the way he sounded exactly like the boy he was: messy and broken and scared of getting hurt, because he always got hurt. But he was here. And so was Ian. “Me too. It’s like that for me too.”

          A headache was building up surely behind Ian’s temples. Mickey could not mean what Ian thought he meant, because that would mean that he was not alone in this, and Ian wasn’t sure he would know what to do then.

          “You too?” he whispered.

          Mickey nodded almost lazily. This was all so simple for him, it seemed. Just nod and draw his fingers through Ian’s hair, and it should all work out now because they were on the same page.

          Except anger was bubbling up in him anyway, frustration that came with the kind of burn that ice sometimes gave him if he touched it too long. All this fucking _time_ —

          “What the _fuck_ , Mickey?” Ian shouted.

          Mickey startled as Ian shoved him back, away from him. His shock melted quickly though, and then he started laughing even though Ian couldn’t find a single goddamn thing in the whole world that was funny right now. Ian tried to glare at him, but Mickey was _really_ laughing, his whole frame shaking with it, and Ian’s hard stare faltered. Mickey didn’t usually let go so much, or so easily, and it did more to get Ian’s guard back down than anything he had said.

          “You fucking idiot,” Ian said anyway, crossing his arms and doing his best to look away, but it was hard to stay so steadily angry when Mickey was laughing so nicely, drawing his eye anyway.

          Mickey did this thing where his lip jutted out and he was so clearly making fun of him, but the patronization was offset by how soft his touch was when he reached out for him and stroked his arms, his face, pulled him into him again until Ian was forced to drop his crossed arms. Mickey pressed another kiss to his mouth even though he was doing his best to be unresponsive, then another, then another, and in between these tiny presses of his lips, he murmured, “Oh, you asshole. I love you so _much_.”

          It turned out that having his heart mend back together in quick stitches felt kind of the same as having it break. Ian’s chest heaved, and he could feel how his breathing wanted to start coming in short pants, but he didn’t want to let it. If he ruined this moment with a panic attack, he would seriously never forgive himself.

          “Why didn’t you say anything?” Ian whispered. He could hear how shaky his voice was, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the conversation they were sort of having (albeit in starts and stops and with breaks to make out, apparently), or because Mickey was holding his face in his hands and pressing kisses across his jaw now, and across his cheeks too. Ian’s hands found Mickey’s forearms and stayed. “Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

          “I didn’t know,” Mickey admitted. Ian could tell he was just hiding his face now, because he wasn’t kissing along his jaw anymore but he kept his head held there, right where he didn’t have to look Ian in the eye. “I didn’t realize it until…until you basically confirmed it for me. In Ascendio. That you felt that way, I mean. Then by the time I came around—and it seriously took me _weeks_ , I had to reevaluate _everything_. I mean, this whole fucking time I was—and I didn’t even _know_. Who does that? And then by then, you were telling me that you wanted to move on, and to forget about. But how the _fuck_ ,” he said, and he pulled up now so they were looking at each other, and his eyes were shining but in a good way and not at all like he was about to cry, “am I supposed to just _forget_ about it?”

          Ian laughed, and it was half broken except there wasn’t any reason for it to be so it was a lot happy too. He was absolutely sure that he knew the feeling. Loving Mickey wasn’t something he could just forget. He had tried, for months and months and months, but it was a part of him now—lines written in his bones and sunk across his skin, a reminder that Mickey was part of him, had always been, and he was never getting him out now. No matter what happened after—if after was tomorrow, or next summer, or years and years from now—Ian was going to spend the rest of his life loving Mickey in some way or another. It’s just who he was. He had been built to fall in love with Mickey, every single time, and there was no escaping it now.

          So he said, “I know,” and he twisted his hands up in Mickey’s shirt since they were still pulled so close together, and he whispered, “I know. I _know_ ,” and when he ducked his head to cover Mickey’s lips with his, he was met with no resistance at all, just a gasp and a hard press of Mickey’s mouth back into his.

          He hadn’t realized the song had changed, but it was harder now, louder and more intense. It was nothing at all to stand there, barely dancing, half rocking against each other in something that was sort of a beat, and kiss and kiss and kiss. This wouldn’t be enough—they would have to talk about it more, all of it, eventually—but now it was just Mickey’s mouth on his and the bass racing through Ian’s body and it was enough, it was enough. It was enough for the rest of his life.

 

          Ian didn’t know how long the concert continued on around him. The only things in the universe that he knew anymore were Mickey’s hands pressing into his skin, his lips on his, how he body felt pressed up on Ian’s. It didn’t take long before sweat that had already beaded just from being pressed into such a big crowd began to run down his neck and down his shirt. Still he only pulled Mickey closer. He had no intention of letting him go anytime soon.

          They were kind of making a scene, he guessed. It didn’t really matter—so much so that he was somewhat surprised when Mickey disentangled himself, though he apparently only needed one look at the semi-feral leer that Ian was sporting to laugh and say, “Hey, hold up tiger. You wanna come with me?” and then he didn’t even give Ian a chance to process what the hell he meant before he was taking his hand pulling him along, out of the crowd. He heard Mandy go, “Fucking _finally_ ,” and one of their friends wolf-whistled and someone shoved him in the back as he tripped after Mickey, but Ian was too busy smiling dopily at the back of his head to worry about any of that. He had this. He really had this.

          Mickey led him into the bathroom; Ian wanted to laugh. Mickey released his hand to go shove his way across the row of stalls, making sure nobody was inside. One near the very end was locked, and Mickey pounded on the door hard.

          “Get out!” he snarled.

          Whoever was inside scoffed. “Use _any_ other stall,” he called back, clearly annoyed.

          Mickey snorted. “Whatever,” he said, turning his back on the door and strolling back over towards Ian. “But we’re about to get it on in here. I guess you can stay if you want.”

          Ian was a little distracted by the way Mickey strode up to him so confidently, like they had done this a million times before, like Mickey _owned_ this moment and was in charge of it all. As soon as he was close enough, he slid his hands back into Ian’s hair and leaned up to capture his mouth again in one motion, never stopping his forward momentum until he was there kissing him. So Ian was a little distracted, but he was still pretty sure that the guy in the stall hightailed it out of there faster than could be called entirely normal.

          He guessed it was a little embarrassing, how easy it was for Mickey to work him up like this (he kept doing this thing where he pulled a little and all of Ian’s thoughts just _scattered_ ), but _god_ , Ian had been wanting this for so long—he didn’t think he could be blamed for the low groan that worked its way steadily up from his throat, getting lost somewhere in Mickey’s mouth while Mickey kissed and kissed him. He kind of expected Mickey to make fun of him, because he was already sounding like this and they were just _kissing_ , but either Mickey didn’t want to ruin this tentative place they had reached or he was feeling much the same way, because he didn’t say anything. He did start kissing him a little deeper though, a little sloppier, but Ian liked it. It was passionate even if it wasn’t perfect, and he pulled at Mickey’s hips, trying to get him closer.

          Mickey stepped up when Ian tugged, until they were pressed so close together it was hard to tell who ended where. Even Ian wasn’t really sure who was who, although he attributed part of that to how Mickey was making his brain go all foggy every time he tugged his teeth against Ian’s lip, every time he did this thing where he sucked on his tongue and Ian’s knees tried to buckle in response.

          Trying to get some of the upper hand back, Ian pressed Mickey back by one shoulder until he was the one pressing Mickey against one of the sinks, and then he slid that hand around the side of his neck like he hadn’t just taken some of the power from him. He clearly wasn’t subtle, because Mickey chuckled lowly, but it was also obvious that Mickey really didn’t care. More than didn’t care, he _liked_ it—he seemed to anyway, by the way he twisted his hands up in Ian’s shirt like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull it off or not.

          Ian made the decision for him, pulling back just long enough to tear it up and off over his head. He was slow to drape it over the sink next to them, because it gave Mickey time to check him out, which he did. When Ian stepped back up to him, Mickey spread his legs a little to make more room for him. They wore matching smirks while Ian pushed at one of his hips, and since he was already backed all the way up against the sink, he had nowhere to go but up. Ian helped a little, backing Mickey up until he was sitting on the edge of the counter, and it was just that much easier for him to spread his knees open and for Ian to get right up against him. He rolled his hips forward as he captured Mickey’s mouth again, a thrill running all through him when Mickey let out this choked little moan and dragged his nails across Ian’s bare ribs.

          Ian was panting a little when he pulled away, the things he was trying to say already slipping from his mind like so much water through cracks. He pressed his mouth against Mickey’s jaw, against his neck, and tried to reconstruct what he had been going to say.

          “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked, mostly mouthed, against the hinge of his jaw. “Jesus, Mickey.”

          The last bit was supposed to be exasperated, but Mickey chose that moment to press his hands so far down Ian’s back that his fingertips were edging past the waist of his jeans, and it mostly came out all breathy and dumb.

          “Why?” Mickey laughed. “Because we could have been doing this the whole time?”

          He must have known what he was doing, fending off this semi-tiff before it even got started, because he pressed his nails harder into the skin they were hovering over. Ian shivered, a full body thing. Mickey was so close to him, and Ian didn’t even _like_ his ass played with, not particularly, but knowing that Mickey _could_ —knowing he _might_ —opened something deep and primal inside him. Ian considered the thought; he could come back to that later.

          “No,” said Ian, but his body arched against Mickey’s and he thought, _yes, yes, yes_. “Because you had a _month_.”

          “I told you,” Mickey said.

          He sounded sharper now, more clear-headed, which Ian decided immediately would not do at all. If he was going to be losing his mind, Mickey might as well be too. He tugged on the tops of his jeans until Mickey shuffled forward on the counter again, tilting his hips up so Ian let out all his breath on this big exhale. Then he started panting and pressed his mouth to Mickey’s neck.

          “Told me what?” he said, kind of muffled by Mickey’s throat.

          “You…” Mickey let out a breathless kind of chuckle. “You said you didn’t want… _Shit_.”

          He pulled on Ian’s hair until he leaned up and kissed him again, claiming his mouth like he had been wanting to do for just about forever. Ian kissed him like he had something to prove, plunging his tongue into his mouth, scraping his fingers across Mickey’s shoulders and through his hair, pulling him closer and closer and closer until there was nowhere else to go. Mickey gave it to him with a gasp, and he was breathing hard still when Ian pulled away from him.

          “I made you nervous,” he accused, smiling slyly at him.

          Mickey shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up, man.”

          Ian laughed delightedly as he pulled at Mickey’s shirt, until Mickey lifted his arms above his head so Ian could tear it clean off of him. He pressed a kiss to Mickey’s shoulder, directly where Mickey had shoved him on his.

          “I made you so nervous,” Ian repeated. Mickey kicked feebly at him. “So nervous that you couldn’t even think straight.”

          “I never think straight,” Mickey said. “It’s all very gay up in here. All gay, all the time.”

          Ian was laughing again as he took Mickey’s chin in his hand and maneuvered their mouths back together, loathe to keep them separated for any longer than was strictly necessary. Mickey was smiling at first when they kissed again, that special smile he always had for Ian, and him smiling it _because_ of him while they were kissing made a million and one butterflies take flight in Ian’s stomach. He felt giddy. More than giddy—he felt like he could take over the whole entire world.

          “I’m in love with you,” Ian said breathlessly, fumbling his fingers over the button on Mickey’s jeans. He pressed a kiss to his lips, then another, mumbling his words against Mickey’s mouth. Mickey stroked his fingers through Ian’s hair where his hands were stationed, gentle and encouraging. “I’m so in love with you. And you can finally hear it, _shit_.”

          “I’ve been hearing it for awhile, shithead,” Mickey said, grinning as he leaned their foreheads together. Ian forgot about Mickey’s jeans for a second, hands stilling as he looked at Mickey, so close he had to go cross-eyed for a second. “Not everything has to be talked about for me to get it. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

          Ian snorted. “You didn’t realize you were in love with me for like, a month.”

          “ _You_ didn’t realize you were in love with me for like, _three_ months,” Mickey returned in a mockery of Ian’s intonation.

          “So I kept quiet pretty well then, huh?”

          “Just because I’m obtuse doesn’t mean you weren’t pretty fucking loud about it.”

          “Shut up,” Ian snorted, getting back to work on his jeans. “We’ll see who’s loud.”

          He finally got the button off and the zipper down, and Mickey had to shimmy awkwardly on the counter so they could work them off, down to his thighs. Ian might have found it funny, except that more important than that motion was the fact that Mickey was undressing, and it wasn’t just some casual thing—he was undressing for Ian, so that Ian could get his hands on him. A thrill shot up his throat at the thought of getting more than this someday (someday soon), of getting all of it. But this was close enough for now; they were hardly keen on fully undressing in a public bathroom anyway.

          “We didn’t even use a stall,” Ian said giddily, senselessly, pressing more kisses to Mickey’s mouth.

          “We didn’t even lock the _door_ ,” Mickey said, snaking his fingers through Ian’s belt loops and tugging fruitlessly. “Get these the fuck off, man. I’d like to suck your dick before I’m eighty.”

          “I do have an old man thing.”

          “Christ, I know.”

          Ian stepped back so Mickey could hop off the counter. Mickey outright leered as he pressed Ian back by his hips, guiding him backwards and backwards until he bumped into the tile wall with a jolt. Mickey’s jean-clad knees hit the bathroom floor.

          At the same moment, the door behind them opened. There was a pause; the guy looked at Ian, Ian looked at the guy, and Mickey twisted around to look at him too. Ian remembered that they were not at Hogwarts; they were out in the real world, and in the real world, not everyone liked boys on their knees for other boys. Ian felt as though cold water had been dumped on the moment.

          Then Mickey said in this flat, hard voice, “Get out, we’re fucking,” and the guy let out a little squeak and practically jumped backwards out the door. They did not wait to make sure he really had gone; Ian tangled his hands in Mickey’s hair with a hissed, “ _Shit_ , that was weirdly hot,” and Mickey tugged Ian’s boxers off in one go.

          “Shut up and don’t say any more shit unless it’s my name,” Mickey ordered, and Ian’s head thunked backwards against the wall.

          Well, shit. Okay.

          It wasn’t that hard to follow Mickey’s direction; two seconds into Mickey getting his mouth around his cock and Ian promptly forgot everything except for Mickey’s name anyway. He wasn’t totally sure that he even knew his own anymore.

          Ian was momentarily glad that there wasn’t a lot of room for wandering at Hogwarts. In such a closed environment, the gay kids all knew each other—the ones who were open to fucking, anyway. And the ones that wanted to fuck each other did. It all added up to a veritable mess as far as sexual encounters went, and even worse in the romance department, but it also meant that everybody knew what everybody liked—and right now Ian was definitely reaping the benefit of Mickey knowing exactly what Ian liked, both because Ian had slept around the pool a lot and because he knew him so well anyway, so it wasn’t hard to read his tics and tells.

          “Jesus shit fuck _Christ_ ,” Ian said. “Holy…fuck balls.”

          Mickey pulled back. Ian was momentarily confused until he saw that he was laughing. Mickey wiped the back of his hand across his chin.

          “What? Oh…sorry.”

          “You invent all kinds of new and interesting swears when you’re turned on,” said Mickey. “It’s interesting.”

          “ _Interesting_?” Ian repeated. “Well, that’s not what you want to hear.”

          “I meant it’s good,” Mickey said. “It’s funny. It’s…”

          He stopped himself from finishing. After a second, Ian’s eyes widened.

          “Holy shit. You think I’m cute.”

          “Uh, duh. I’m sucking your dick.”

          “No, I mean you think I’m _cute_. Adorable. Sweet.” He waved his hand in the air. “Pick a word.”

          Mickey shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the faint red flush of his cheeks, not from Ian. “Are you always so talky?”

          “I’m not hearing a denial.”

          “I’m hearing you cockblocking yourself,” Mickey warned, but it was all just for show apparently, because he seemed to decide that the best way to shut Ian up was to go back to sucking him off. It mostly worked; Ian was reduced back to mainly moaning and more nonsense cursing, occasionally with Mickey’s name thrown into the mix, as Mickey bobbed his head and worked Ian’s dick like he’d been well-acquainted with it for more than just the last five minutes. Ian was infinitely grateful for whatever practice he had had, because he didn’t just look hot on his knees—he was good at it too. Shit, he could put it on a fucking résumé.

          At last, he tugged hard on Mickey’s hair and gasped, “Fucking _shit_ , come the fuck here,” and Mickey clamored to his feet and pressed a hard, desperate kiss to his mouth like he’d been dying for it just as much as Ian had. Ian clutched at Mickey’s back, tasting himself on Mickey’s tongue, tilting his head so he could kiss him even deeper, even harder. Mickey hitched one of his thighs up, unable to find purchase on his hip; Ian grabbed it and pressed it harder into his side, which gave Mickey just the leverage he needed to start grinding into him, desperately, wonderfully.

          “Jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” Ian mumbled when they paused to catch their breaths. He turned his head to the other side and kissed him again.

          Mickey said something unintelligible, paused to repeat it, failed to do so around Ian’s mouth in the way, and redevoted himself fully to their activities. His tongue was hot and demanding and he knew what he was doing. Ian moaned lowly and clutched at his hips, and then, without really thinking about it, he slid his hands around so he almost grabbing his ass.

          Mickey drew back from their kiss, ducking his head so his forehead pressed into Ian’s shoulders. He made a little sound, which Ian didn’t really understand but that he thought was something good. Mickey rolled his hips forwards, than back, clearly searching for something.

          Ian dug his fingers into his soft skin and breathed, “Tell me.”

          Mickey took a deep breath. Ian wondered if he really would answer; then, released on a breath, in a way like Mickey was trying to sound harsh but failing miserably, he hissed, “Fucking…just do it. You know what I mean.”

          Ian guessed that was as close as he was going to get to Mickey asking him to finger him. It wasn’t like Mickey was shy, he just wasn’t somebody who expressed himself with words a lot—Ian could understand that. It was hot anyway though, probably because it was Mickey asking him, and Ian pulled him into a hard, hot kiss, and held his thigh steady against him with one hand while the other crept down between Mickey’s cheeks.

          There wasn’t a lot they could do without lube, but Mickey didn’t seem too concerned about their limitations. He muffled a cry into Ian’s shoulder the first time he pressed dry fingers over his hole, and it wasn’t a lot, not even enough pressure for him to feel pain—or pleasure either, Ian guessed, but he started panting hard as soon as he stopped biting into Ian’s collar. Ian did it again, and again, because it was beautiful to watch him pant and moan and press into Ian’s hand. It was like Ian was the only way to give him that white-noise pleasure, and Ian really wanted to give it. When Mickey started shaking he pressed his fingers into his mouth and watched Mickey suck at them, lap at them, getting them wet enough for Ian to continue what he had been doing. This time he was a little rougher with it, sure he could take it, and Mickey did not disappoint; he pressed back on Ian’s hand like he wanted more, and when Ian pressed his thigh more firmly between Mickey’s, he rocked against that too, back and forth between his hand and his thigh. Mickey sucked on his neck until Ian was moaning and canting his hips up just as surely into Mickey.

          It was fucking gorgeous.

          “Fucking touch me,” Mickey breathed. “Ian, Ian. Fucking touch me.”

          Ian was too hot, too far gone, to remember to tease him that he already was. He would only remember to say that later, maybe. He realized he had been pressing scratches into Mickey’s back, probably too deep, and his nails were dug in hard to his shoulder blade. He wrapped that hand around Mickey’s cock instead and started stripping it in a kind of back-and-forth rhythm between that and the hand teasing his ass, and Mickey was keening now, but he wasn’t so out of it that he couldn’t reach down and give as good as he got. Their arms were crossed, jacking each other off to the same beat, and Mickey’s free hand was pressed against Ian’s jaw to keep him anchored just right for Mickey to kiss him over and over and over again.

          Time slid sideways. Ian had been in that bathroom for a minute, for an hour, for a day. He felt simultaneously as though he had been touching Mickey forever and like he hadn’t done it nearly enough. The planets were aligning, and Ian was suspended in that moment, and it was just what he needed but he would never get enough of it.

          He supposed things were like that when they had been built up to for months and months—maybe more than that. Right then Ian felt like his whole life had been just waiting for him to fall in love with Mickey, and now that Mickey loved him back, he could finally be afforded the peace he had so long been promised.

          Mickey came with a low groan that was muffled into Ian’s mouth. Ian’s hands didn’t stop working until Mickey was completely still, slumped against him, so satisfied. He was breathing hard, sweating hard, still keyed up but feeling like a part of him had let go with Mickey.

          Slowly, Mickey came back to himself. He pressed his lips to the skin beneath them, feathering kisses up Ian’s neck and then along his jaw, and his hand on Ian’s cock started to move again. Ian’s toes curled; he was already so so close, only heightened by watching Mickey come undone first, with a muffled cry of his name. When Ian did come, he pressed his mouth against Mickey’s neck and bit hard, earning another low moan for his troubles.

          Mickey didn’t stop until he was completely done either. They were messy and had to clean up, but he didn’t want to move just yet. He would have to, eventually. First Ian pulled Mickey until he collapsed against him again, and Mickey let himself fall forwards. Ian snaked his arms around Mickey’s waist; Mickey played with some of his cropped hair. They didn’t say anything for a very long time.

          Things were strangely silent in that little bathroom, which was strange because Ian registered, vaguely, that they weren’t really. The wall behind the sinks connected to the women’s room next door, and he could hear a toilet flushing and a sink running in the other restroom. The bass from the concert still raging outside vibrated through the floor, and the music was a live thing coiling in the air around them. The cheers of the crowd, unrelenting and momentous, broke through the closed door and surrounded Ian in a cloud. His heart was pumping blood steadily through him, and it was loud in his ears.

          It was not quiet, not at all. But Ian’s head was, for once. It had gone still and silent. He was not tired, but he felt distinctly like he could finally sleep. He had gotten the thing he had been needing for so long, and now he had been granted the ability to rest after so long fighting his way towards it. Parts of him already _were_ resting, relaxing as they hadn’t been allowed in so long; his long-aching heart, for one, had returned to its usual beat, and it didn’t hurt anymore.

          At long last, Ian broke the silence. First though, he pressed a kiss to the side of Mickey’s face, right against his temple.

          “I really am so fucking in love with you,” he murmured.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. Apparently that had been all the catalyst he needed to pull out of Ian’s arms, because he did, moving away to gather some paper towels and then wetting them under the sink.

          “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. Ian sighed contentedly and spread his legs so Mickey could clean him up better. He felt kind of useless, but he didn’t really mind Mickey taking care of him. “I love you too. Asshole.”

          Ian laughed and threw his arms around Mickey’s waist again, pressing his face alongside Mickey’s. After a second, he heard the paper towels drop to the floor with a sickly wet and thick sound. Mickey laughed and wrapped his arms around Ian too.

 

\- - -

 

          The concert was nearly done by the time they stumbled their way back onto the main floor. They were met by their friends, still in the same spot they had left, now with specialized looks to match. Mandy raised her eyebrows; Karen crossed her arms and gave them a hard look; Savannah was grinning; Sully made a series of lewd hand gestures at them.

          “I hate being friends with these people,” Mickey sulked. Ian laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders.

          The concert finished better than it started, although Ian was pretty sure that he was enormously biased on the matter and probably shouldn’t be writing any opinion pieces on it anytime soon. He sang along with more gusto, and jumped and danced with Mandy and the others like a boy in love for the very first time. He wasn’t—he had had loves, many of them, before this—but this was the most important one he had ever had. He could already just tell.

          By the time Fanged Kneazles played their last song, then their encore, the six of them had all finished passing around the flasks again and they were empty now. Ian felt light and buzzing, his limbs all loose and his inhibitions looser. They joined the crowd milling for the door, and burst out into the cool late-night summer air with swelling hearts and joy that could lift the sky.

          They walked on stumbling feet back towards the Leaky Cauldron, alcohol and exhaustion wavering their steps. Still, they laughed too loudly and talked over one another and recounted the concert and their individual experiences, and Ian felt even better than he had at the lake yesterday. If he had known in twenty-four hours he would feel this way, he wouldn’t have thought he could conquer the world back then. Maybe he would have, actually—good things then weren’t diminished by better things now. It was just that now he could conquer an entire galaxy, if he wanted.

          He didn’t want to. As he laughed at Mandy’s joke, and followed Sully into the Leaky Cauldron, then stepped into the fireplace to get back to Hogwarts—as they snuck out of the empty Astronomy office and down the corridor towards the entrance hall—as he twined his hand with Mickey’s on the staircase down to the second floor—Ian thought that he already had everything he ever wanted, or would want again.


	19. last sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe things would never be as they were, or how they had been. But he had them all, all of his crazy and wonderful friends, and he knew that he had them all for life—just as they had him. Things might be different in that vast and questionable future they had, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be just as good, that they couldn’t be even better than what he had now. He had them and that was all that mattered.
> 
> And he had Mickey too.

**EPILOGUE**

 

          The breezy summer air gusted through the open windows. Because the Hufflepuff dorms were in the basement, the windows were implanted on the curve where the walls led into the ceiling just to have a chance at glimpsing the outdoors. Ian had seen them charmed to withhold rain and impervious to snowfall, too. They were nice now though, with sunlight streaming in from the semi-skylight. Ian smiled over at Mickey, laughing beside him and lit up gold in the afternoon sun as he plucked a chocolate frog card out of Ian’s fingers.

          “Stop trying to steal these from me,” Mickey teased. “I got it fair and square.”

          “You don’t even _collect_ these,” said Ian, grabbing for it back. “Carl’s been looking for this card for so long!”

          Mickey just made a “nuh-uh” sound and shook his head. Ian dropped his hand back down by his side and stepped closer so he could wrap his arms tightly around Mickey’s middle and nuzzle his nose into his cheek. Mickey made a face and squirmed in the circle of his arms, but he leaned into the kiss Ian pressed to the side of his face. Then Ian pressed another one further down his jaw, and then another just by the corner of his mouth, and finally he just gave in and kissed him soundly. Mickey twisted around in his arms and reached up to cradle his face in his hands, kissing him back.

          “Are you gonna help me pack or just stand around distracting me all day?” Mickey asked when he pulled away.

          Ian leaned in to kiss him one more time before releasing him.

          “I guess I’ll help you pack,” he said reluctantly.

          “I owe you like, ten blowjobs,” Mickey sighed, looking at the mess around his bed, where most of his belongings had been strewn so they could begin sorting them into “keep” and “discard” piles. He didn’t want to or need to bring everything he owned with him to his new apartment, which was extremely small, and he wasn’t going back home first to drop anything off first. Nothing would be safe in the Milkovich house anyway; anything that could be pawned would be, and everything else was habitually used to roll joints or set fire to once the Milkoviches were bored. It was just better this way.

          “You could donate some of this,” Ian mused, picking his way through some of Mickey’s dirty school robes. He picked one up, only for it to promptly tear all the way along the seam, and half of it fluttered to the floor, only saved from falling off completely by a tiny thread. “Maybe not.”

          “All of this is garbage,” Mickey said dismissively, “Some of it just happens to be garbage that I’m keeping.”

          Ian snorted. At that moment, Mandy stuck her head in the door.

          “Hey,” Ian said, while Mickey greeted her simply with a “what the fuck do you want.”

          “Hello to you too,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her brother. Then she turned to Ian, her expression clearing. “Don’t forget you’re sitting with me on the train tomorrow.”

          “Probably,” said Ian, shrugging.

          “Why the urgency?” said Mickey, attention on a notebook he was flipping through, only to ultimately throw it into the discard pile.

          “Because Dad’s probably gonna send one of his creepy friends to collect me,” said Mandy, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Or Joey or something. I need backup as _soon_ as we get off. If I’m still allowed to come with you,” she added, pouting a little in Ian’s direction.

          Ian rolled his eyes and threw a couple of textbooks in the discard pile as well.

          “Of course you’re still coming,” he said. Mandy beamed.

          “Good,” she said. “Then I’ll leave you two to…whatever this is.”

          “Wait!” Ian called, “don’t you want to help—”

          Mandy waved and shut the door. Ian sighed and turned a dejected expression toward Mickey.

          “I feel like I’m getting the short stick,” he complained.

          Mickey grinned at him. “There are perks,” he promised.

          Ian raised his eyebrows. “Are there? Where are these perks? I feel like I’m not seeing any of them.”

          Mickey rolled his eyes. He got onto his knees and half-crawled, half-shuffled over to where Ian was sitting cross-legged, leafing through the torn-out magazine pages Mickey had collected to stick up around his bed. Most of them featured half-naked men or nice cars; a few of them showed people smoking artistically, and some of them were just advertisements and Ian couldn’t figure out why he had them at all.

          When he got close, Mickey grabbed a handful of Ian’s hair and maneuvered his face up until he could kiss him, all sloppy but deep. Ian’s fingers scrabbled at his neck as he promptly lost his train of thought in favor of arching into Mickey’s touch as much as he could. Mickey kissed him fast and kind of hard, licking his tongue along Ian’s with an obvious purpose, but Ian didn’t really care that he was being manipulated. Mickey’s grip on his hair was still hard and Ian moaned a little, but Mickey seemed pleased with it, at least according to the way he kept kissing him that way for several more long moments. Ian slid his hands up to grip his shoulders, hoping to keep him there for just a little longer.

          Mickey chuckled as he pulled away, as quickly as he had come onto him. Ian stared after him, breathing a little harder than before, his eyes wide. Mickey looked at him expectantly. Ian took a moment to remember what he had been talking about.

          “Those are some good perks,” he panted.

          Mickey laughed and went back to sorting through his belongings.

 

\- - -

 

          Even with the train as full as it always was during the beginning and end of year crowds, Ian, Mickey, Mandy, Karen, Sully, and Savannah all found a compartment together near the back of the train. After they had finished packing or throwing away Mickey’s things yesterday, Mickey had helped Ian pack up his own trunk to go home. That had gotten interrupted several times to make out and shove their hands down each other’s pants, because they had only officially been together for a couple of days so Ian was still pretty feverish about ninety percent of the time, and Mickey seemed only all-too willing to get his blood temperature back to something manageable.

          “It’s for my health,” Ian had assured him as he threw his things out of Mickey’s hands for the third time that afternoon and climbed into Mickey’s lap. Mickey had snorted but grabbed Ian’s hips and reciprocated the kiss, so Ian guessed he was just as invested in Ian’s health as he was himself.

          Everyone was in lively good spirits as the train chugged out of the station at promptly eleven a.m. Ian knew they were all simultaneously dreading and anticipating the summer; it would be strange not to see each other all the time, and even stranger to come back without Mickey and Karen, but they had all gone over their plans (ad nauseum) to get together in groups of twos and threes and sixes over break, and Ian felt confident that he would see each of them at least once over the coming months. More, probably, since he was housing Mandy, and since Mickey had his own place so it was optimal for partying, and since about half of them were newly licensed to Apparate (Mickey and Savannah had both passed last week, Mickey finally and Savannah by the skin of her teeth). All in all, things were looking up for the summer in a way they hadn’t been looking up for a very long time.

          Ian was unashamedly into Mickey before the train even left the station; he made sure that their seats next to each other were completely obsolete as soon as they started moving, because he immediately wrapped himself around Mickey and he had no real intention of letting go. Mickey didn’t seem to mind, leaning back on Ian’s chest and playing with his hands were his arms were wrapped snugly around him.

          “You two are disgusting,” said Karen, glancing over the top of her magazine at where they were all wrapped around each other. “I mean, seriously. There are other people in this compartment, you know.”

          Ian just snickered and squeezed Mickey for a few seconds, enough to get the glower to dissipate off of Mickey’s face where he was directing it across the cabin. Mandy threw her arm around Karen’s shoulders.

          “There’s no need to be bitter anymore,” she said in a lilting voice. “You have somebody now remember?”

          “Oh yeah,” said Karen. She grinned and grabbed Mandy’s chin with three fingers, maneuvering her around to kiss her. “I forgot I don’t have to be bitter and single anymore.”

          “We’re still allowed to think you guys are gross though, right?” said Sully. “Because you are. Really, really disgusting.”

          “And I thought it was bad when you were faking it,” said Karen, wrinkling her nose.

          “You guys are allowed to think whatever you want,” Ian said, smiling down at Mickey even as he addressed the others. “It’s not gonna stop me from being the absolute grossest boyfriend who’s ever lived.”

          “Trust me, we know,” said Mandy.

          “They’re cute, guys,” said Savannah, but she was grinning when she turned back to them and added, “but you know, I’m straight, so I’m not sure I’m allowed to say anything to the contrary anyways.”

          “You’re not,” Ian and Mandy said at the same time, but Ian was pretty sure that like him, Mandy was mostly joking. They grinned at Savannah anyway, and her hair got tossed back over her shoulders as she began to laugh.

          The train ride passed in good cheer and better spirits as they sped through countryside and by rising mountains and near expansive lakes. They even passed through populated areas once or twice, cities or towns, and they all pressed their faces up to the glass and looked at all the Muggles going about their ordinary days, laughing about how their summers had already started or how they didn’t have the same swelling joy in their chests. Ian was in love with all of his friends then, their cheeks and noses cold from the windows’ glass, grinning at one another as they made up stories about that girls’ life or that man’s past, before collapsing back into their seats to talk and throwing candy they had bought at one another, all trying to catch some in their mouths. They were a senseless and wild crowd, and Ian wanted to know them. Forever.

          By the time the train pulled into the station that evening, a thick cloud of unhappiness had begun to bloom within the joyous bubble he had developed over the course of the ride. He knew things would never be as they were now; Mickey and Karen were both leaving, and he did not know how that would change things, or who he would be without them both by him day in and day out. For a moment, panic welled in his throat; he didn’t want things to change, not really. They were so good as they were.

          It dissipated mostly as soon as he stepped off the train onto the platform. Mickey’s fingers were weaved through his, but they parted hands so that they could plunge one behind the other into the crowd. Ian found his family by the gate, Lip and Debbie having already assembled where Fiona was standing with Liam’s hand in hers. Fiona released their youngest brother to Lip’s care as she stepped forward and wrapped him tightly in a hug, then pressed her lips to his forehead. She stepped back, smoothing nonexistent hairs away from his face.

          “How was the rest of your year?” she asked. She spotted Mickey over his shoulder, standing a little ways back from them, just inside the milling crowd. “Is he staying with us again?”

          Ian laughed. “No, he’s got his own place this summer. Although I do have to talk to you about Mandy…”

          Fiona rolled her eyes and released him from her embrace. “We need to work on your communication skills,” she said. “We’ll talk about it. Go say goodbye to your friends. I need to find Carl anyway.”

          She shooed him off with a promise to stay put so he could find her in a few minutes, and Ian departed from his family once again. He grabbed Mickey’s hand as he twisted his way back into the crowd, and they still nearly got separated half a dozen times as they searched for the others. At last they found them standing by a pillar, some with their respective parents loitering nearby.

          Savannah’s mother and father were an attractive, mildly rich-looking, middle-aged couple. Both were platinum blonds, although her father was graying a little in places. Sheila was also standing behind where Karen and Mandy were talking, although she burst through their tiny circle so she could wrap both Ian and Mickey into extremely tight hugs at the same time; they glanced at each other over her back. Mickey was noticeably uncomfortable, which made Ian want to laugh but he reigned it in for Sheila’s sake.

          “It’s so good to see you boys again!” she said. “God. You’ll both be around this summer all the time, won’t you?”

          They exchanged glances. Mickey shook his head minutely, but Ian ignored him and turned back to her expectant face. It was hard to say no to Sheila.

          “Dad’s asshole gambling buddy is over there,” Mandy said when they approached her and Karen next. She gestured vaguely over the crowd. “We should get going before he finds us and causes trouble. You almost ready?”

          She directed this last part to Ian. He glanced at the others, then back to her.

          “I just need a minute,” he said quickly. She shrugged and turned back to Karen and whatever conversation they had been immersed in.

          Sully enfolded him in a hug that Ian had only seen frat boys do on TV sometimes, the type of one-armed thing that made him uncomfortable and also feel like he should be drinking sports drinks and playing football or something. He was grinning though, that messy golden retriever grin of his, and Ian couldn’t help but smile back.

          “We’re seeing each other this summer,” Ian said, and it wasn’t a question.

          “I’ve already made plans to book us tickets to at least two games in July,” said Sully, nodding. “And you’re coming to Pride with me, right?”

          “I’m thinking about it,” said Ian, which was about all he was willing to offer on the subject. They had been debating it back and forth for awhile now, and Ian hadn’t quite come around yet, but he had agreed to think about it.

          Sully seemed to accept that that was as close to an answer as he was going to get for now, because he just nodded again and said, “Cool.”

          Savannah hugged Ian too, a light squeeze accompanied by a kiss on his cheek.

          “I’ll be seeing you too this summer,” she said brightly. “You have to come over and try those hors d’oeuvres I was telling you about. Mom makes them special.”

          “Savannah, you have a pool _and_ a tennis court and like, five hundred rooms in your house. I’m coming over _all the time_.”

          She laughed and folded him in another hug.

          “Good,” she said, all sugar and sweetness the way Ian had come to learn was just her way.

          Karen and him exchanged a strange handshake they had invented in his third year, but right afterwards she hugged him too, tightly and all of a sudden. Ian hesitated in shock for just a second before he pressed his cheek to her hair and squeezed her back.

          “I’ll miss you next year,” he whispered.

          Karen pulled back and swatted at him. “That’s a whole summer away,” she said, but he saw her sniff. “Don’t depress me for another three months. I’m coming over all the time to fuck my girlfriend on your couch, anyway.”

          Ian laughed. “I’m counting on it,” he said, and hugged her again.

          At last it was just Mickey left. Mandy gave him a look, glanced at where she had said her dad’s friend was, and then tipped her head at him. Ian nodded back at her, thankful for the permission of just a few more minutes. He took Mickey’s hand and dragged him a few feet away to where none of the others would be able to overhear unless they were trying hard.

          They pulled to a stop and faced one another. Ian took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but Mickey stopped him before he could even get started.

          “Don’t,” he said, clamping his hand over Ian’s mouth. Ian blinked at him, startled. “Don’t even say whatever sappy shit I know you’re gonna say to me right now.” He inhaled deeply, his gaze flicking over Ian’s shoulder. Ian knew Mickey was fidgety right now, and probably didn’t want to look at him. He was grateful when Mickey forced himself to anyway, right in the eye with obvious effort. There was nowhere to hide like this. “I love you, Ian. I’ve loved you for a really fucking long time. And—and whatever happens…Fuck. We’re gonna see each other all the time this summer, you know?”

          “Of course we are,” Ian said, hoping that if he just said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, then it would be. “You’re gonna be fighting me off with a goddamn stick.”

          Mickey laughed and pressed his forehead to his.

          “Don’t get kinky on me just yet,” he said. Ian rolled his eyes.

          “We have a whole summer to figure that stuff out,” he teased.

          Mickey looked uncomfortable again, with the promise of summer. Ian furrowed his brows at him. Mickey swallowed and said, “And next year…”

          “We can figure that stuff out later,” Ian said. Mickey looked eternally grateful for the interruption to his fumbling words; Ian knew what he meant, anyway. “Jesus Christ, Mick. We’ve been building up to this for so fucking long—if you think I’m gonna let something like this stop us, you’re dead wrong.”

          Mickey’s gaze was unwavering for a second. Then, with an urgent gasp, he pushed forwards and kissed Ian hard. Ian swayed a little on his feet, but he kept his balance. He weaved his hand through Mickey’s hair and kept him there, kissing him hard until his heart slowed down and it was easier to breathe when he pulled away.

          “Forever, Mickey,” Ian whispered in the space between them. “This thing we’ve got. That’s how long it’s gonna be.”

          He heard Mickey catch his breath.

          Maybe things would never be as they were, or how they had been. But he had them all, all of his crazy and wonderful friends, and he knew that he had them all for life—just as they had him. Things might be different in that vast and questionable future they had, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be just as good, that they couldn’t be even better than what he had now. He had them and that was all that mattered.

          And he had Mickey too. Mickey, whose arms were wrapped around his back with his hands clasped together to tether him tightly against him. Mickey with his forehead on Ian’s. Mickey with his gentle smile and soft eyes, the mien he only wore when he was looking at Ian.

          Mickey stretched up to kiss him again, so simply and so wonderfully.

          “Forever,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> where to even BEGIN? first of all, an enormous thank you to everyone who made writing this possible - and when it came down to it at the end, that was anyone who read, who left kudos, who put down their comments, who sent me a message or so much as glanced at the page. i know writing is technically "for the writer," but let's be real - there's a reason i pulled through to get to this point, and it wasn't just me.
> 
> second of all, i want to seriously thank each and every one of you for even getting to this point. for reading, and liking it, and still liking it even when it got really, really hard (let's be real, i started this last september - it's always been really hard, from a canon standpoint).
> 
> i love you all. thanks for being here to do this with me. it's been more amazing than words can say.
> 
>  
> 
> [xoxox](http://bkinney.tumblr.com/post/145857360395)

**Author's Note:**

> [lol](http://badlandd.tumblr.com)


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